Even If It Takes A Blog To Reach You
by: mykez16
Total views: 54
Word Count: 605
9 PM - In the residence hall, where I used to spend hours of studying, mingling and having fun, I stopped by my friend's room. We used to know each other since the first week I entered the dormitory. I sat on the bed, shed by the fluorescent lamp's white emission, and started putting forth my attention towards his new cellular phone, which he just received last Christmas.
I skeptically sought for the applications stored within it.
As I rounded on those icons and folders tainted with digital color, I opened the Gallery and found some pictures, videos and mp3 tracks. These pulled my sight.
I saw pictures of a very strong friendship. There were only three of them, who happened to pass the entrance exam for the college I too am taking in, at the same time, were the only ones to stay and had to survive by themselves. Of course, I exaggerated it. They too were gregarious like me. In a "just-called" home of about 500 plus, each with different traits and backgrounds, most are eager to make a lot of companions. At least, a lot.
After which, I landed on videos of the happy times they had, when they planned to go out and recreate. They went to their friend's house, and chose to stay. Mirth was within them; nobody could deny except no one. They were just the perfect friends I could ever think about.
Roaming around the features, I paused for a moment and witnessed a happy family in less-half-an-hour sets of video streams. It was but captivating. And reminisced of those times - I regret I could've caught a video of my own on my 3-year old phone.
As hours fled with unending conversations, tackling the status of our lives, I skimmed on the messages icon. The Inbox had been too personal that I decided not to read it. So, I brushed off and thrust towards the Outbox seeing lots of jokes and inspirational thoughts. Pranks of life.
I peaked on spills of messages in his Sent Items box. One of which taught me of guilt. Around 8 billion people live in this transitory world, each born of dissent, and cares like I do. And yet, I feared of letting it out of my mouth.
What I saw crumpled my view - that shame's get the 1st place first before the benefit of the doubt. Waters of anguish struck the half-masked face. I was crying deep inside, blaming myself how stupid had I been to break the firmament splitting a thought-like sentence from a dull phrase - the point of it.
"I love you Mama. I love you Papa. I love you all." Not just a message. No, with the difference unveiled from its serene touch.
How I wish I could have told them this before. But my heart has learned to speak silently. And my actions usually get off the trail.
"I love my friends. I love you Mama. I love you Papa. I love you brothers. I love you all." I don't want to lose you. It's really hard to say it, but I want you to know I mean it - even if it takes a blog to reach you or tranquility to disappoint you.
But it's the hardest to accept when the song is finally over, missing the most striking lyrics that complete the very thought of it, like forcing the last shot to bring home the bacon, when 2 has turned to 1, and the ball slips off the player's hand.
I couldn't just let you wait till the sun sets, where I'd moan my whispers off and grieve for your loss in the dim-lit night sky.
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loving, caring - it's what people usually say about me
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