I believe there's this theory about how two lovers are born bound to opposite ends of an invisible string. How these people are destined to find each other, be drawn to each other, and pull back so to meet, no matter how far they try to stray or withdraw.
I always saw the world too simply, and I described it as it was. I highly regarded beauty and triviality as it refracted against my eyes, but I leave it on its own when out of sight. I found purpose only on what life gives, and I never found reason to look for things that do not come. Or things that left for good.
Still, I always returned. Even after the limited time we were given to work with each other, I returned as if by muscle memory or old habit. To the place where I could get the best view of you, I’d walk past, pretending to search for unconcerned people in hopes I’d find you instead.
But there was no reason to see you as often anymore, so I figured I shouldn’t push through any longer because I realized I was beginning to see you differently. I was beginning to see us as more than what we were meant to portray: two people who coincidentally worked in the same place and gradually formed some kind of bond driven by similar interests and jobs.
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I thought I should cease before I continued giving my own reasons and meanings just to get a glimpse of you for the day and ruin this placid relationship we have. I did not want to let my one-sided hopes up. I did not wish to open wounds that were loosely stitched, in case you’d notice. In case we’d have to change.
So I became a parallel line to the paths that you took. I would go the other way, any way, but never your way. I even prayed that life be so kind as to not let us cross paths again, as to let me forget about you, so I could avoid facing the consequences of harboring feelings all too well.
But life jests at one’s supposed misery, and so the more I retreated, the more I saw you—literally—with every step taken, every corner turned. I cover my face; you smile. I veer my head; you say hello. I find you in places far from where you’re supposed to be… not that I know.
It was as if something’s letting you near on purpose, so your name and voice get unwillingly engraved on my mind. As if it’s not respecting my decision of forgetting and moving on. As if… we were meant to be in this same place at this same time, and it’s telling me to stop hiding and searching for more or for less.
Maybe it isn’t about life foiling at me, but playing Cupid on a stubbornly desperate person and a clueless (or perhaps, simply nonchalant) individual who saw me as nothing more than an acquaintance. At least that’s how it seems now that I find myself reaping the fruits of defeat from my matchmaker: I finally look forward to seeing you daily. I indulge myself in accepting my capacity to love beyond the usual, to see things in a different—better—way. I no longer find fear in change. Rather, I pray that each action results in change — the type that is patient and kind. And although the future is ambiguous, I find every day a new chance to let my beating heart be known to you, and hopefully, have yours beat for me.
Behind every intention, there’s this question always hoping to be answered favorably: if the red string of fate would work for me, will it be you on the other side?
