To Remember You

I hope I do not wrong you when I wrote this. It is genuine.

Sometimes, I forget my age.

Sometimes, I change my name.

Sometimes, I don't want to know how I look.

Sometimes, I don't want to talk about it.

Other times, I rely on my age regarding my maturity.

Other times, I rely on my name to be remembered by other.

Other times, I rely on my looks to be given attention.

Other times, I want to talk about it.

When I think about sleep, I often thought of peace. A long awaited sleep, reward of the day. My dream greeted me like a war hero. I admit I am so fond of it up to the moment where I realized; reality become too familiar.

I have met you before.

I don't want to talk about it because I don't remember how you look and I don't know your name yet, certainly not your age.

But when you laugh with me there, I know we were eighteen.

I called your name.

I know we wore matching shoes and I know we were friends.

I can tell where it ends when I remember you.

The first day that I met you, I was sure that I won't be your friend. They remember your name too much and mine not so much.

And how can I dreamt of sitting next to my friend who wear the same shoes as I, laughing on broad daylight, but I cannot remember her name or her face?

It is no one, I thought. A random emotions to fill what I lack of that day.

On Monday afternoon you often went to my apartment. Because if you are to go back to yours before that 5 PM meeting, you'll be late.

The rooftop, you said.

A little place of our own where cool wind soothe our nerves and the view over the city is immaculate.

From the rooftop, I often look at the campus. A dark, tall, minimalistic block among the clouds.

I saw a view through long glass walls in my dreams, I thought of a laboratory.

It was a classroom.

We were very thrilled to see the newly built classrooms. It wasn't our classroom, but why not snuck in and look at the view? The eight floor was empty.

That was before we became friends.

Your favorite color is pink. The reason is unknown. Not that it need any other more reason than beauty.

Then I think again, it was because of your contrast behavior from the rest of us. An element of bravery and purity.

You always said your truth even if it's painful.

Not to harm anyone with it but to remain truthful.

You want that for others too, no lies.

Pink makes you stand out in the crowd.

Is it a crime to hate your favorite color?

In my dreams people always laugh at me for wearing a pink T-shirt. I don't know why but I was always surrounded by laughing kids.

Pink makes me feel seen, too much. I feel like they can see all of me, through my soul, when I'm wearing your color.

Although I was older than me in my dreams, I feel defeated.

And when it ends, I feel naked.

I have some questions that I am too afraid to ask. I will not bother to ask them to you. You won't understand, you joke too much.

As I thought of the answer by myself, I noticed something. There are decisions that I made with unknown reason.

Like that boy in our biology class, why do I have a crush on him?

He was your friend for the first two semesters of university.

I had thought that if I became your friend, maybe you'll be the bridge to him. A selfish thought.

I never saw him in my dreams.

But if I had not come early to class and talked with you that day, maybe we won't be friends.

And if I had not made the foolish decision to put my heart out for a stranger, maybe we won't be friends.

If we are not friends, the faces will remain no one.

The glasses will remain something from a laboratory.

And I will remain alone.

But I remember you, we have met before, and we are friends.

Last week I saw your debut song, beautifully displayed on the billboard.

I have lost your contact for more than ten years.

When you replied my text, I feel stupid.

Because I talked to you yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that.

I had thought, I will see you again.

You continue your studies abroad, you still paint, you still sing, and you're still my friend.

Just like in my dreams; you are my friend.

For a long time I thought of him too.

For a long time I believe I still love him. If you (he) ever read this, I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner.

Because when I woke up, I know you'll text me again next week.

I hate to be the one who start the conversation, all my friend know this.

But we've talked before.

The part when you smile at me was easily forgotten, then.

The part where I feel so lonely before we talked was somehow stronger in my memory.

Afternoons you'd find after a long day of high school was not rare to be adventures. Well, by now you probably think I had found my own adventures. Sadly, no I have not.

That was before you.

You were with your friends and I with mine.

I said something stupid about someone, which I should've regret, but no.

You laughed at it. So does our friends. I believe they were laughing at my words, which for them sounded like a joke, instead of laughing at me. I still don't know why.

You fell in love that day. You didn't know I already kept my heart for your curly-haired friend.

But I met you before and it was like finding a missing piece of puzzle.

It took me two weeks to decide that I will no longer chase someone who had no interest in me.

It broke my heart a little because after the whole two confusing weeks, I still care about your curly-haired friend.

Because the truth is, I met him too. Somehow I was older when I met him. Our parents are there. He sat next to me and I can tell you weren't there.

That was before us.

Last month, you texted me.

When I agreed to meet you at the café, I feel stupid.

Because I know you won't be there.

I feel more stupid when I woke up the next day, knowing that you'll text me again next week.

There are countless encounters I've had. With other people in other places.

Not all of them come to life, not yet.

Maybe some time in the future, we'll meet.