When I meet the one, it won't feel like a fairytale laureled with happy endings walking out of a book and coming to life. It won't be cherry-kisses and holding hands while sky lanterns ascend from the ground. When I meet the one, it won't be about that "I know that they're the one" the moment our eyes meet; it won't be it's-worth-writing-a-song-about kinda romantic. When I meet the one, it won't at all be about spark and fires or skipping heartbeats or slow-motions or soul recognitions or true love.
For meeting the one — it's watching everything we had collapse into a sinkhole of memories, and down, down they go — each and every one we made. Meeting the one — it's walking away and away and away, and risking a glance at your fading silhouette It's knowing you'll meet yours too, and knowing it's not me. Darling, it's coming to terms with the thought that the future we planned is now reduced into a television blur and spilled beers, drying up way too soon, and in the end, it might have been you. It might have been me. It might have been us.
There were midnights when I could still tell you about my dreams. Of course, they were always about us — marvelling at the colors of the sky. With you, standing under the sun and getting lost in the afterglows and collapsing with the black holes sounded romantic. One night, I would dream about reading the books we collected together. Other nights, I would dream of kissing the tips of your lashes inside our blanket forts in terry cloth robes and Birth of Venus and Starry Night socks. Regardless, we would be up at 5 am — you with your whole bean coffee, listening to the tales authored in my sleep.
Except that in my dreams, it still feels like her instead of you. It always does. So tonight, I hope you keep yourself warm and touch the dream catcher tattoo on your nape and not think of me anymore. I know that I'm the reason for your sleepless night and memories dressed in nightmares, but tonight, I hope that you go back to sleep and no longer dream of the love I fabricated. And when it's 5 am, I hope you realize that you need something a little better than my dreams. I hope you brew your coffee to the right strength and no longer look at where I used to sit to tell you my daytime stories. So go back to sleep now. You'll be okay — without the what if's and the dreams and the happy ending written in our name. You'll be okay, darling.