She was a catch. Nice, blunt and funny. I adore her almost instantly. I got attached to her the whole orientation week. That’s how I know her lovely husband, and the other guy.
Even distance didn’t put much barrier on us. We contacted now and then, often I could say.
I lingered at the intersection of our lives, peering deep into our past. And it poked really hard when I viewed your Facebook profile, my post is the latest one on your wall. You congratulated me, you said, you’re pregnant. And the good news didn’t last long.
Here’s the thing, I always the first one who packed my things and leave. Whenever I sensed the cracks on the floor,facet on the wall. I’m gonna run, far far away from the catastrophe without looking back. But I know deep in my heart, nothing is settled.
And you, you are the one who got away without noticed. Now I can run, as fast as my feet can take me, until all my muscles are fatigue but I can’t run from the reality. Damn, I can’t face the truth. No, no, no. I feel abandoned. And stupid. And scared.
You can’t hear me no more, but
1. I like you.
2. Thanks for the hospitality every time I stay at your place.
3. Thanks for the motorcycle ride.
4. Thank you for the time you spent on my phone call.
5. Thank you for offering me your hands.
6. Thank you for the foods.
7. Thank you for calling me your friend.
Today, I discover, it’s more painful to be the one who’s left behind.
R.i.p Mira Amal Nasir.
“And the best are always the first ones to leave”. Al fatihah.