I was never good at Math, but I used to have a talent in counting days and sunrise and sunsets. I used to engrave former love interests’ names along with tiny details of our days in my journals in fancy and ornate alphabet. That was how their beautiful memories remain unscathed by unpleasant ones. You, however, was a different story. I lost count of verticals early on or perhaps I was too consumed of our days together I no longer needed to write them all down. My head learned to take photographs of then realities, vivid images archived in memory. Little did I know we’ve already gone past a thousand years.
Somehow, it makes my heart smile that I am not afraid of losing memory as much as I have gradually learned to let go of what came before us. I do not intend to discard them anyway, I just learned not to ponder at un/happy anniversaries, as I fondly call them. Neither do I plan to bring to light thousand-year old pages of love letters in prose and poetry.
They were all like summer, yes. And I was too giddy marking days as to when it shall begin and formulating a countdown as to when it shall end. But it was all one season that is bound to come and pass. They all came and left.
It would be a grave mistake to endear you as someone merely present throughout the change of seasons, for you are no less the ever-changing seasons in my heart. You are the breeze of early summer that warms the chill of the holidays, and the soft touches of icy weather during extremely hot afternoons. You are the winter, spring, summer and autumn whose arrival defies your own cycle. You change unpredictably, upon your heart’s desire in resilient relation to mine. This I am un/knowingly aware of. I need not count days and write down verticals anymore, I only await the signs from my heart.