It was not because of the cold, because it wasn't cold. It was... something else. Something that couldn't be put into words. I'd like to think it was fear. Fear of taking risks.
I didn't know where did I find the guts to talk to people again, but when I managed to do so, somehow I feel grateful for deciding to do it because of the patience shown by them to hear me say what I wanna say; the "take your time, I'll be waiting." I could have sworn to God I lost count of how many times I had to let myself calm down by repeatedly and heavily breathing in and out—my breath could be heard on the other end—just to let the words get stuck in my throat for the thousandth time. But I kept reminding myself that this is probably the only chance to free myself from my past. PAST. To free myself from the questions that never got to leave my mouth, hence unanswered for long. The whys that I'd been asking to no one, knowing that I'd only be left devastated drowning in the sea of curiosity. Heh. Screw it! Let's just... take the risk.
Risk?
"Why did you do it?"
Of being hurt again? Well, maybe not.
Not after I was filled with answers. Questions that had been playing in my mind, how I'd been feeling since the day "it" happened, all poured out. How I felt towards that person, the insults, all thrown in the face. And then, we came to this bit.
"By the time I realised it was you whom I really loved, it was too late."
Silence. Total.
Seconds later, they hit me. The throbbing pain. Irregular heartbeat. Salt rubbed on my wound. Difficulty to breathe. All happening at the exact same time. "Help!" I might have screamed in my mind. No one heard it.
"Just wanted to know if you regretted your decision..."
"Then be happy. And be free. Because I did. I do."
0243. End.
