“do you still write?”

I always write, about everything about everyone, on different paper and platforms. So I can always remember the feeling why it happened and why it didn’t. 

” so have you written ours? “

Why is there no story of us? I am asking myself why there isn’t any post written about you except for that pic hidden somewhere years ago. Weren’t you important? But I know and I feel you are. Who are you?


I am trying to describe you but I can’t find the right words to put together. 

Let me try. Again. 

You’re a regular person. Nothing extraordinary or anything. You are a friend like my other friends. 

This won’t work. Words are not coming right. Let me try once more.

You’ve been part of my everyday. 

Neither the sunrise which I look forward to nor that sunset which I’ve always waited. You’re like the midday that passes , that twelve noon full of warmth but I never notice. 

You are the lines in my favorite song.

Neither the chorus that everyone sings nor the bridge which I keep on repeating. You are that second verse that sounded like the first. Those lines I mistakenly sang loud ahead and above the universe. 

You are part of the storm. 

Neither the close thunder and lightning that shouts and scares the hell out of me nor the rain that pours heavy. You are that cold wind blows that calms the inner me; you’re that feels that I could never see. 

Now, that is definitely you. 

When asked why I haven’t written our story, why I have never written anything about you,  it is because I didn’t know there is an “our” in the story between you and me. And just now, the puzzle perfectly fits, I know there is. There should be, even a bit. 

You were the early knocks in my door and my late “friendly” messages at night. You are the good in my dull mornings and sometimes a happy naughty pill before the day ends. You are a good friend that’s why I never notice; I never felt. 

You would ask me out to eat once or twice and whenever I ask why, you always come up with something to celebrate; may it be just because the day ends and works off. 

You were my late phone calls. I remember going to the other room just so we wouldn’t wake up anyone. Sometimes, if you’d give me an early ring, I’d put you on speaker so everyone can hear how silly you are. And we would laugh and make jokes that everyone hears and ends up laughing about. I was so comfortable that we are all friends, I didn’t notice it was only me you were always calling. 

You would sing for me, at night over the phone, during christmas and it’s recorded, on my birthday or if you’re just so bored, even if I never ask and even if I ask you to stop. I also sang for you because I sing for everyone. I remember playing a guitar while you are listening and staring and into deep thinking. I shrug it off. I never realized until now that it’s not usual to sing for someone, all the more to record it. 

There’s a couple of times you would walk me home. I never bother. You and me and the others. It’s fine. I know mine is along your way. I never thought of any hidden motives. We are friends. 

One night, I received a message from you saying you wanted to walk with me tomorrow morning. I doubted. I’m almost in the edge of thinking but I know you never get up early so do whatever you want. I woke up and a friend of mine kept asking if you would be coming, I said no, ’cause you are never a morning person besides we’re also running late so we cannot wait for you just in case and then my phone rings. You’re at the end of the other line saying you’re coming and just looking for the iron because you haven’t iron your clothes. And I laugh. You don’t want me to leave. You put your phone on speaker and did everything just to check I’m not going anywhere without you. I heard the spoon and fork, the shower, footsteps and running around. And yes, I waited for you even if we’re both running late, we just take our time and walk. 

I’m not sure but I think you also walk me home that day. You tried to carry my things but I said it’s okay. You insisted, I can’t remember if I let you bring it home for me. Still, i’m sorry I never noticed. 

A friend dare to ask what’s between us two but I have nothing to answer because we’re just friends and that’s all there is, as what I’ve thought. I was naive. 

And until now, you tried to still keep in touch. But unlike before, it’s like once or twice a year. And if you’re ever asking this question soon, 

Have you written ours?

I can say yes this time. 

I may have not written it before, when it was all happening, but I am writing it now because I still remember this same old feeling. 

The feeling you gave in that midday, through the lines of a song even after a storm. 

Our story. Ours is different, ours is interesting. Ours is ours alone. 


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