A Third Chance.
Maybe we were fated to fall apart after all.
A third chance was never supposed to be in the picture, but I loved you — and for that, I was ready to break my own rules for you.
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It was a comical regret. A choice that humours my bones when the thought of you comes knocking on the corridors of my mind. As hilarious as I paint it to be, nothing aches the hollow walls of my heart more than the thought of us—the image of us wishing for destiny to abide by our side. Sharing a warm cup of coffee on a harsh winter morning as we laugh at the innuendos we made the night we waltzed into each other. The idea of us winning the third chance.
Three long years have passed. Three years since I settled to be the last option on your mind. Three years since I’ve loved you, and three years since I’ve let myself go from the shackles of your silently cruel love. As much as I long for vitriol to surface my memories, I only ever know to see you as a lover. Perhaps it was because I knew you to be the one lover I could hold; however, you proved to me otherwise, like you always did. You were a lover that was never mine to keep.
I always told myself that I would never give people who have betrayed and hurt me a second chance — let alone a third one, which is why it surprises me that I let myself go for you. I watched myself fall apart into pieces for someone who had no chance to live up to what I truly deserved. I stared at the scattered fragments of love, losing all sense of my pride just to feel that familiar comfort that felt so scarce. I lost myself for a love that was not true.
I never knew if I was really over you or if I was still transitioning to the final form of love. The one that will be everlasting and evergreen in the crevices of my heart. The kind that will bring me to my knees when the scent of a fresh cup of tea lingers at the back of my nose and makes its way back to the table we shared our meals. The pain that I willingly chose to go through because I loved you. One that I think you never had to experience because you never did love me.
There are times I still yearn for your return but I know that that alone is simply silly wishful thinking. That’s a story that was never written and a poem that was never felt. It was a part of love that felt beautiful, enough to encapsulate me to write again. Enough to make me wait for you and write to you this one last time.
