That long night drive after every exhausting day at work makes you remember the love that failed your heart. You’ll enter that state wherein you let your mind wander on the thoughts you’ve tried to lost while leaving your body staring lifelessly at those warm night lights. And the irony of wanderlust filling a soul imprisoned in a tired body starts to consume you. And you wish you were somewhere else with someone from the past. You imagine the face, the other reason why you have to let go of the love that you thought wasn’t meant to be.
And the rain started to trinkle. Leaving the earth drenched with tears. And the radio plays the song that reminds you of the person. And you feel the emptiness from within that barely even existed minutes ago. You savour the feeling of pain as if it is still fresh from yesterday’s cut while the rain moistened the grass and the trees along the pavement. You watched as the fog started to embrace the scenery until everything appears cloudy as your thoughts. And you see the silhouette of that person but disappears in a blink of an eye. And you realize that the obsession is playing with your senses, the same way that person played your heart.
You close your eyes for a minute. And tried to remember the feelings that caused you pain and happiness. That talk you spent at the sunken garden. How invisible yet vulnerable you’ve felt. And the darkness, though presented uncertainty, have blinded your anxieties of the future. You remember that time you’ve spent listening to foreign jazz music. While synching your breathing to each other. The way you’ve felt the thud of your half’s heartbeat in your palms. You smile with your eyes closed knowing you’re both doing the same thing. You remember the intimacy. The sex under the morning sun. Of good mornings filled with kisses and blows in the nape. Of the hugs that seemed too tight, the belief that neither will ever let go.
And you open your eyes again. And your back to the reality you attempted to escape. And with love, just like an exhausting day at work, you would ask yourself whether you’ve done your part. Whether you’ve exhausted all the efforts that you can give. You ask whether you could’ve done something different. To change the course of your failed romance. And you let your thoughts continue to wander as you press on the gas. Across the empty intersection on a cold damp sunday night.