Tulips

red tulips

red tulips

I dreamed about you last night, isn’t that something? I know, I know it’s been a while since the last time we’ve seen each other. Was that eight, ten or fifteen years ago– doesn’t really matter though, it doesn’t change anything, right?

I dream about the lake, yes– that special lake that we both loved. And the dream, though it’s not something new, is quite the same old story. Me, on my yellow sundress sitting on our picnic mat and trying my best to cover my legs as the wind playfully blew its breeze on me. And you, with your sheepish, boyish smile walks slowly towards me with something behind your back. I knew of course that it’s something for me and I would guess a thousand times that it will always be those red Tulips you picked on the garden near the lake. You would slow down and look at me, as sweet as ever and making all the blood rise up to my face and as always do make me tremble a little. Isn’t it funny how those times were always beautiful? I mean, who would guess that those persons by that lake were us and now, we’re merely strangers with some secrets to die with.

You would usually hand me the flower and kiss me lightly on the cheek and sit down beside me. I would try to hide my blushing cheeks and look down, into the the tulips and how pretty they seemed to be but somewhat saddened by the fact that they are one of those unscented kind. Don’t get me wrong but sometimes what we had can be compared to it– a plain attraction of what we thought we had but somewhere, beneath and in the midst of it all, we didn’t possess any kind of longer-lasting scent. We never had, never did. Nevertheless, I always like that dream. It’s like revisiting an old place, an old tale and as the movie roll and each scene unfolded right in front of me, I could see clearly that once, we were happy. We once believed on those happy endings, no matter how corny they seemed– there were fragments of happy memories; of us not fighting, of us not being angry or shouting. No hysterical shouting, not even that door-slamming scene that almost broke me and the baby inside.

Well, I never told you about the baby, right? She’s turning eight soon(so it must be 8 years ago since the last time I saw you), of course you might think that she’s not yours because I decided to ran away from our home and if, just a wishful thinking, you came back there, I was already gone. I was so hurt and the pain was overwhelming, I prepared dinner that night in a light mood and was about to surprise you about the test I took when I went to Dr. Stuart. But, you came home drunk and told me that I was meeting an old lover and that you saw me went into Dr. Stuart’s clinic (he was an old lover, nothing more) and ¬†you wouldn’t listen to me. I never had the chance to explain because you already slammed the door. I’m not saying that it was all your fault, as I read somewhere, it would always takes two to tango. I, for one, have a long list of what if’s and regrets but it doesn’t really matter now. Though, I’m still wishing that we are both healed now, I never heard from you and I’m wishing that you could come to her 8th birthday– it would mean the whole world to her. And I probably, a bit– not too much, somewhat, it’s kinda difficult to admit but yes–I miss you. Nothing more, nothing less.

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