A wind from my drafty window crawls at my pores and skin like a human touch. It's dim and soundless inside my room. It's already midnight and I should be asleep by now. I gazed up at the ceiling with undeniable emotion of being bothered. It's about the wedding invitation that Rachel gave me this afternoon at the hospital. An invitation to a wedding from my ex-boyfriend, with whom I had lost contact for many years.

A ton of questions kept coming to my mind. "Why did he send me an
invitation?" "How did he know about the hospital that I work at." It's been thirteen years since we last
spoke, since we last met, since he
broke my undefiled heart.

"Good for him," I uttered.

There was an imbalance of opposing forces, together with an inexplicable feeling that I was unable to describe. My mind was fighting tug-of-war with the question, "Should I show up or nah?" Yet in all honesty, there was a part of me that wanted to see him.

I miss him.

I miss his hazel eyes, as my greatest

weakness before,

his sweet smile,

his laughter,

his dorkiness.

It's been more than decade since I've

seen those.

Somehow, I felt pangs and a tad of grief inside of me, but I have to conquer it. Given that thirteen years had gone, I shouldn't have let myself to.

He is getting married next week.

I closed my eyes and tried to shut down all the loud noises in my head, but it didn't work.

I put on my AirPods and listened to Taylor Swift's "this is me trying".
I would constantly play this song every time I felt anxious and downhearted. I find it to be therapeutic.

Unfortunately, it didn't work this time.

I breathed heavily before removing my Airpods and sat down. I took the invitation that was lying on the wooden desk next to my matress. The design is lovely. The card's margin was decorated with pink blossoms, and their names and details was skillfully penned.

Would I ever be able to make an invitation like this? Where my name and my future husband's name are written there. I would see the lovely faces of my people with a dazzling smile as they cheered for me.

I picked up my cellphone and dialed Rachel. Gladly, she picked up.

"Rey, I can't sleep. There is something bothering me." I sighed. She could clearly hear the weary on my breath.

"Wait, hold on. Don't tell me...is this about the?.. OMG" she suspiciously asked getting hyper.

There was a second of silence, after which she continued, "I knew it. You still love him."

"That's why all these years you're single because you are still into him. Am I right?" she added.

"Stop rachel! it's been thirteen years since we broke up, and I haven't thought of him for the last several years, so, I guess, I'm over him." I say vehemently.

"Then why is it messing your mental peace?" she asked again.

Rachel was right. If my feelings for Axel had died, then why am I tormented by this wedding ceremony thing?

____

Axel was my first boyfriend when I was in college. Our relationship was the greatest and most joyful time of my life. I met him when I was eighteen, and I had no idea that I would spend the rest of my life trying to get over him.

He embodies what I mean by the ideal partner: a gentleman, someone who is charming, kind, and goofy, and he seems to be everything you might want in a guy. He was my human diary back then. Whenever I run into a couple of issues in school or in my personal life, I always vent to him like an open book, and he never judges me for that.

It was my first time falling in love romantically, and if I could turn back time, I would definitely do so for me to relive those teenage dreams and feel that "first-time" feeling.

Axel was my home, my comfort zone, my everything... before.
 
Sometimes, I pondered if I was really the problem and wondered why it was hard for me to move on. I've grown extremely reliant on him and put the whole ball of wax on him.
 
______

I told Rachel that we should go into bed once I hung up the phone. I reclined, encircled myself in the blanket, and shut my eyes.

But there's one more scenario that flashes back in my mind:

"Why did you have to leave this city?" My voice cracks a bit trying to beg him to stay.

"I thought we would find a job together. Live the life that we want, do the things that would make us  happy. What about our plans? What about... us?" I added.

He could vividly see the tears that were about to fall from my eyes.

"Jean, this is not my decision. I don't want to leave this city, especially not with you, God knows that. " he gripped onto my hands, and I could see the wretchedness in his eyes, or maybe the idea of "wanting to stay" or the fear of "what could've been the aftermath in the end."

"Then make a way!" I raised my voice as my tears began to fall. I feel a little selfish and guilty for being angry at him. In fact, it was his family that made the decision to leave.

"What will happen to us? on our relationship?" I said it in a composed but anxious tone.

"We have cellphone, we can call each other every day, and Facebook, we can trade pictures there. Jean, This is a modern technological world, and we will never lose contact. I don't want that to happen." He touched my face, and the warmth of his hand gave me comfort. He then looked at me with truth and affection.

"Mom and dad wanted me to enlist for the military, but I promise after the training, I will come back here and go back to you." I could feel the sincerity and almost a glumness in his words.

"I will come back here and come back to you."  These are the words that I've carried and that linger in my heart for years. The words that anchored my faith and hope. A sentence that is so short but made me believe for so long.