To that special friend I’m slowly gaining more and more confidence in again: stay. After a definitive year and a half, I’ve felt that growing apart was best, just as you said it was. And we’ve evolved to be stronger individuals. And for the past month, I’ve learned we’re still daunted by being ready. By committing fully.
I’m starting to see more of us in the near future – watching more movies, discussing hope in campus politics and the rest of the Filipino constituency, if Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye should have gotten together, if Joker should die, reminiscing those we had loved and remembering those we still love but differently, and hugging more. I also see us disagreeing on what music to play out loud, on whether horror films should be on our marathon set list, and if human transmutation should have been legal. I also see us discussing the furniture we’d want when each of us start a family, but I don’t see if we’ll be starting one together. But I want to. I want to see that we’ll be standing next to each other on a cliff, our hands trembling with the vows we’ve written.
Save for the glow of certainty in your eyes and the gut feeling at the pit of my stomach, I’ve got little to keep me believing. And I don’t know if it’ll be enough to sustain me when I start working while you’re still in school, even if we do make time for each other. The inevitability of further distance fuels a hesitation I wish I didn’t have.
All I ask is this: tell me if I’m wrong. I’m not asking for a proposal. I’m not saying we should get together right now. I’m afraid and doubtful, and I know you are, too. But tell me if you’re hesitating. Tell me if you’re more conflicted than certain, more confused than confident. Tell me if you still believe in us, and how much you’re willing to fight for us. Because I’d rather you leave early than stay longer than you’re comfortable with. Hurt me with no delays, and leave the lingering memory of your arms around me to slowly disappear.