Today, my family and I went to my parents’ retirement house. It played a significant part in my waiting, to be honest. I remember that a year ago, we stayed here while I waited to see him for the first time after we started talking. I remembered the way days passed by while I waited for our first date. Days after, I remembered how I counted the days ’til I would see him again. Maybe that was the reason why would cry when our dates would be postponed.
When he was finally out of my life, I saw the days passed by. At first, it went on slowly, and that hurt so badly. Then later on, it went on so quickly. Then slowly. Then quickly… Then, slowly…
I hated how I still remember these days so vividly. But the more I remembered the good days, the more I forget the bad ones. The more I forget the bad ones, the more I remember that once in a lifetime experience with a man that God first allowed.
One day, I know, I would stop writing about him. I would not remember the way he looked at me or the words that he said. I wouldn’t remember the way he held me so close.
If you would ask me if I still loved him, I would say, one day, I’ll know.