𝘃𝗶𝗮 𝗥𝗲𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗻 𝗝𝗮𝗺𝗲𝘀 𝗕𝗼𝗹𝗼, 𝗣𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗿𝗼𝗼𝗺 𝗣𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗶𝗽𝗽𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀
Classes were finished. Students were rushing to who knows where. While I, stood in the middle of the road—questioning everything I’ve done.
As I walked home from school, I froze. I recalled a certain someone.
Someone who liked me for me.
Someone who understood me.
Someone who knew what it felt to be me.
Yet beneath the thoughts of sincerity and affection, I made a mistake.
A mistake that changed me,
and that someone.
I replied with a kiss.
We were nothing. Yet we were more than friends, less than lovers.
We greeted each other.
Good morning,
good evening,
good night.
We talked about our days. Our constant struggles. Things that made us laugh. Dreams that we thought were never achievable. Everything.
But it was all one-sided.
I entertained, I gave a motive, I gave false hopes.
As I continued to walk home from school, I couldn’t take another step. After minutes of telling myself “I’m a bad person,” my feet froze. They wouldn’t budge. I took a deep breath. I told myself to move on from something holding me back. Then, I realized something.
The thing holding me back wasn’t laziness to walk or tiredness from school; it was guilt.
Holding me from moving on.
Keeping me from being true.
Binding me in chains of regret.
For a moment, I wanted to cry. I wanted to run back to them after realizing what I’ve done. I wanted to comfort them. I wanted to come back to the days we were still innocent.
But alas, I ruined it.
I destroyed their understanding of love,
their innocence,
their kind spirit,
their gentle soul,
their feeling of being loved.
I didn’t just leave the conversation; I left an impact. A negative one.
The moment my legs refused to take a step, I wanted to say the words I said over and over again.
“I’m sorry.”
Yet in the end, apologies won’t change the situation.
So, I forced myself to walk home.
While carrying the burden of my fault,
bearing the weight of my mistake,
keeping in mind when their sincerity became my entertainment.
I wanted to say sorry for the last time. But I already did, multiple times—the last time with less integrity and dignity.
That wasn’t just a mistake. It was trauma; for them and for me.
I really wanted to say sorry. For breaking their heart. Their selves. But I know it’s time to let the past be the past, even if it meant apologizing a thousand times.
In the end, I didn’t tell them. I left a scar in their heart. A scar that will echo time and space. A scar that changed their character. Broke their meekness. Shattered their heart.
To me, it was a lesson to set your motives clear.
To them, it was fear to show what you feel.
That day, I wanted to apologize. But I know a simple sorry wouldn’t patch the void I created in their heart.
Now, I felt what it meant to hurt someone and to be hurt by someone.
