1.27am, 29 March

I think you might have forgotten. From the look on your face and the stuff you said, I know the significance of it all was lost on you. It was something special I thought I could share with you. It wasn’t just the number, the amount, the lights, the temperature and the things I wrote.

What I said didn’t register. It was only days later when you asked. But by then, the moment has passed. Talking about it was like getting me to taste milk that has expired for days. And where we were wasn’t the most appropriate place for me to talk about it.

It has passed. Something that could have turned into a beautiful moment for memory’s sake has dissipated. I alone hold this memory for now, until it fades. Maybe one day, something triggers it and my emotions will make sure that I will revisit everything and anything associated with it.

It’s the same thing all over again, isn’t it? What’s special to me won’t mean a thing to anyone else, even if I were to talk about it there and then. You know, like cherishing the moment and wanting to share it with someone, anyone about it?

Because it’s there, I’ll carry it with me maybe until the day I leave this world. Quietly. And I’ve been driven so far into the woods that it’s harder now for me to come out. I don’t think I will and I know this will cripple me more than what I have already done to myself.

A month or two later, some unsuspecting woman will stumble into my life. She may think that I’m some Tramp and probably decide never to see such a wretched creation of a being again in her life. Or if she thinks there’s something in this man that is worth salvaging, she’ll try to pry the shell open. She’ll probably be so frustrated that she’ll give up crying. I can show her the physical scars, the scabs, the lesions, the red blotches and the black ones. Would she be brave enough to look at me and tell herself that this person is worth her world?

Perhaps for the fear of polluting the gene pool, not many women may want to continue on this path.

The question is of whether or not I want to correlates to how much hope I have left. I don’t deny the fact that I may be deceiving myself and through that deceive women who may deserve better. If accepting all the other flaws of my life wasn’t hard enough, I have to accept this physical aspect that will, perhaps, never go away. Save for a miracle (but how often does one experience a miracle)?

***

I received your text today. You were keen. I was keen. But this has inevitably raised the question about who was the keener party. You or me?

I don’t want you to be too keen. Yes, I would love to have your company. I know we’ll have things to talk about over the dinner you suggested. I have the choice of whether I want to be all superficial about the things I tell you or I suffocate you with enough stuff that may just make you feel like the world’s about to end.

For your sake, I won’t. I’ll censor. I’ll hide myself in the woods. It’s a place where the demons in my life come out to play and I have to garner all my strength to ward them off. But they pale in comparison to what I’ll have to face when I head out.

I know you have your demons too, from the many conversations we had in your car when you were sharing about your struggles and account after account of incidents that threaten your faith in humanity. But I don’t want to dump my demons on you. You have enough on your hands already.

So, for two more days (including tomorrow), it’s the shell of me that you’ll see and talk to. Don’t think I want to meet you again until a miracle happens and I find that it is safe once more to crawl out of the woods.

I hope you understand hiding in a shell expends energy and I don’t have that much of it within me right now.

* This post was written with this song on repeat mode.

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