Bleeding Human

Evening.

The word resounds to my head, hoping it would spark in you a memory of warm nights, the smell of each other's hair, the talking of life's trials, the cherishing of each other's success and the embracing of each other's secrets.

It last. It brings both of us the same feeling of strangers. No joy, no sorrow, no warmth, no cold; nothing but nothing.

We are over... no more us, no more talks and no more hugs and jokes to bother me. I should at least feel some happiness, but I don't. All I feel is the aching numbness that slowly ripping me apart from within.

He didn't tell me he was hurting; for too long, too deep. He covered his tears with big smiles and offset jokes. He always wears those sweatshirts I thought were cute. He didn't speak about his dreams, burdens or fears. But he expressed it through clues on his face. But then again, I may too blind in my own world, too busy to notice his griefs or that his smiles were just for a second, too sleepy to see that the sweatshirts were replaced with jackets, too absorbed in my own thought to ignore what his moves and eyes were trying to send in my inbox-- that the absolute freedom is goodbye... I thought it's not that serious.

And one evening, everything I use to have come crashing down... all because I didn't feel.

I wished I were deaf when he told me it's over. I wished I don't have eyes when my mind saw the picture of evening memories. I wished I had stopped his goodbye. I wished for so many things that would never come true.

Now, the only emotion of the evening is sadness and regret. Sadness for the fact that he can be happier with someone. Regret for the truth that I never told him, " Take care, I love you and I miss you. "

And now, all my evenings will be just a thought of him.