𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗥𝗬: “I did not lose” by Janela Kim F. Clava

 

Layout by: Edward Tabig 

Published by: Kristine Joyce Soriano 

Date Published: March 25, 2025 

Time Published: 9:12 AM 

Category: Prose

Theme: The feeling of regret and gratefulness for knowing someone deeply and losing them.

I've whispered to every mimicking sounds of your laughter regarding on how much I hate every echo you’ve created. The smiles you’ve cast through every moment seems to highlight your crooked teeth and lips sweetened with lies. I despise the light you bring to the table—for maybe the blindness you’ve caused made me wear a rosey-red sunglasses. 

I can feel all the gut-wrenching feelings crawl through my veins as I recall the moment you hugged me countless times: when we won, when I cried, when I told you that the fear was swallowing me as the void between us grows like a tree similar to my grief. I cannot please the time to slow down and wait up when you were riding on it like an equestrian god. I’ve loathed hearing your voice whenever you call, for it was another invitation for me to be at a party where I am partly wanted and wholly irrelevant.

If I’d known, I would've ignored the first curve from your lips; I should've walked past the moment you were about to greet me. I could've rejected the idea of entering your house, as it became a concept of home in my raging eyes that my hopeless heart seemed to seek. You wouldn't call me naive for rolling back to your door, for showing me a soft, fading smile, for the silence sitting around us starts to suffocate the peace I've found in you. By then you should've known that the tight clutch I gave to you will be the last. 

I would've cried and grasped for air as I dealt with the fact that I've lost you. However, the fact that I've let go and you’re too careless to notice, or to worsen; you’ve noticed, and you are indeed careless. It is already enough for me to swallow back everything I'm trying to vomit. Here it is; I hate every lingering feeling for you, for they’re an echo, a memory, a moment that will fade in the back of my head, and I will never dare to play again. I can never hold it like I did before, and that's what I hate the most.

They whispered back—no, it wasn't from your laughs—the echoes of the future waiting for me. The clicking sounds of thoughts like dominoes falling onto each other told me that losing you was a gift. I may no longer be able to know you deeply like I did, and I can no longer go deeper. It was a gift to not know the new sound of your laughter, the new expression coming out from your mouth, the new jokes we could've created, the people we could've enjoyed things with. 

The wind somehow smiled and told me that I’ll keep dreaming versions of you but those versions are the things that I might not have, but I did not and will never lose.