Posted in Letters (Old) by Sandra on May 17, 2008

Mistakes. Everyone makes them.

Some realize and try to change. Some realize and try but still fail to change. Some never realize at all.

I wish I could hold you too. I’ve been saving up and doing what I can to save that SGD4,000 to fly to you, or at least for you to fly to me, on top of the SGD3,000 I still owe my mother from the phone bills from last year. I’m halfway there! Over the next few months I’d be even further along my saving plan…

I don’t think I can bear 2 years without you to have another chance at being with you. Over time I’d probably calm down and be able to live alone again… but not if I can hope that we’d be together again.

2 years till we’re 21.

I’ve always been proud of what we’ve managed to do. To stay together. Even if there are periods of frustration and sadness and anger. To be able to cope with long distance for so long at our age… to cope with not being able to touch each other, not even a hug. I remember when you first started the mic-nuzzling and the non-physical kiss… I refused to do it because I thought it was so embarrassing, but later it became a little replacement for the physical nuzzling and kissing we weren’t able to do.

2 more years.

Yea, maybe you’ve been doing it for too long. 6 years. Since you were 13 with some other girl. I thought this relationship was different, for both you and I. In the end… turns out not.

I’m not as strong as you are. I don’t have as much self-control. I break down after 3 or 4 days and call you because I miss you so much. If I didn’t we’d never talk. And that’s the only thing we really had – words. Words to hope, words to love, words to amuse, words to anger. If there’s one thing you could take from me and leave me disoriented and crumbled for weeks… it’s talking to you.

Because your voice comforts me the way your hugs might have physically. Because your voice is the first thing I heard in the mornings and the last in the nights. Sometimes your snores, but mostly your voice. Maybe you’re right, maybe I’m addicted to you.

I prefer to see it as not wanting to be any more apart from you, and the more you retreat without telling me why, the more I’d ask questions.

And you don’t like questions. And we end up arguing. And I end up crying to sleep.

I remember the times when you’d call me at 5 or 6 in the morning to help wake me up for school. And we’d talk all the way till I got to the bus-stop. Of course it helped incur a huge part of the phone bills… but I don’t mind. I still don’t mind having this bill debt on my finance because if we didn’t talk so much we couldn’t be as close as we did.

I really hope you’d come back. To call me or something before I get numb. To say you love me and want to be with me again.

I don’t know.

It feels foolish to hope.

And hope is a terrible thing.


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