There I met you, but your smile painted

There
was fear and loathing the first time I met you, but your smile painted the sky
with the finest hue. You were a transferee back then, but I couldn’t resist
adoring your voice that lit up my temple. I wanted to know you, but I didn’t
know how I’d start impressing you.

Two
days after, there was no longer loathing, but there still was fear. I sounded
desperate when I began asking your name. I felt the urge to talk with you after
I noticed how your hair looked messy. I wanted to fix it, but I decided not to.

I
was sitting on the bench that time when I saw your smile again. This time, it
shined brighter, brighter than the silver-plated watch on your wrist. I got
worried, what if my friends would tease me? What if everybody would know?

In
two weeks, I’d known much about you, and I liked you. So I thought of giving
myself another chance to explore the reasons why you loved coffee and
photography. But more than the agony I felt staring at your lips when you
started telling why you got interested to be part in our circle of
storytellers, I wanted to lean my head on your chest and hear how your heart
beats for me. I wanted to lie on bed with your warm, broad shoulders and wait
until the sun rises at five. I wanted to skip classes and redeem myself with
the solace I’d feel if I touch the hair on your face and thought, why not I’d
try planting kiss on your cheek?

But
a month after, it was cruel; you hesitated to utter a damn word. I sent you
lengthy messages on my prepaid, but you didn’t reply. I waited and hoped that
you’d talk to me. I spoke to your friends and took chances. I chased your
shadows, but I still was fine, very fine. What went wrong after I smelt how
strong your perfume was? What went wrong after I lost in your thoughts and
manner? What went wrong when you dared to kiss my cheek under a night of
twisted intoxication? What went wrong after you drove me home and tore me
apart?

Two
months later, there was no more fear and loathing when I saw. You wore black
and you had a cigarette on your mouth. I laughed when you were standing alone,
and I took a shot, brave enough to smile at you. I never hated you because you
left, but I remembered well I could hardly take my eyes off, hoping you would
give me a smile. I could’ve told you earlier that I failed to handle my
insecurity the night when someone held your hand. I could’ve told you earlier
that I wanted to apologize because you wanted something more than I could give.
I could’ve told you earlier that I planned to steal your stationery notebook
and mark it with my name and your name, but it never happened. I was scared.

How
could I mourn a love that never was? Seven words: We could never be more than
friends.