The humid air hung heavy around Veronica, the scent of damp earth and wilting sampaguita petals clinging to her as stubbornly as her memories of Summer. She sat on the cracked concrete step of their old apartment building, the same spot where they used to share stories and secrets whispered under the veil of a starry Manila night. Now, it felt like a monument to a love that had vanished, a mausoleum erected in honor of a ghost. The paint peeled from the walls like sunburnt skin, mirroring the raw ache she carried within her.
She took a shaky breath, the words, a mantra of pain and longing, burning in her throat. “Saan kana? Bakit mo ako biglang iniwan? Bakit bigla kang umalis? Akala ko ba mananatili ka sa tabi ko palagi pero bakit ngayon magisa ako?” She didn’t say it aloud this time. The words had been repeated so many times, they had become ghosts, echoing in the hollow spaces of her heart, a chorus of sorrow playing on an endless loop. They were the familiar lullaby of her heartbreak, a song she knew by heart, note by agonizing note. Each repetition felt like a fresh wound, reopened by the sharp edge of memory.
"Ano bang ginawa kong mali para iwan mo ako ng ganun? Ganun na ba ako kadali itapon? Ganun na ba kadali itapon lahat ng pinagsamahan natin?” The questions clawed at her, unanswered, unresolved. They had been inseparable, two souls intertwined like vines on a trellis, their roots embedded deep in the same soil. Their laughter had echoed in every corner of this city, a joyous symphony composed of shared dreams and whispered promises. They had built a world, brick by brick, layered with love and affection, a vibrant haven in the chaos of Manila. Now, that world lay in ruins, a testament to the fragility of human connection, crumbled into dust the moment Summer walked away.
She remembered the day Summer left with a chilling clarity. It wasn't a dramatic scene, filled with tears and raised voices, but a cold and sterile farewell shrouded in uncharacteristic silence. No explanation, no goodbye, just a void where a vibrant presence once stood, a gaping hole ripped through the fabric of her existence. Veronica had replayed every moment, every conversation, meticulously searching for a clue, a reason, a fault in herself. She had become a detective in her own life, scouring the past for evidence that could explain the inexplicable. All she found were more questions, more pain, each unanswered query a fresh stab wound to her already fragile heart.
“Ang sakit lang na after all those years ikaw parin ang mahal ko, ang hirap mo kalimutan Summer.” The confession felt like a weight, pressing down on her chest, a heavy stone tethering her to the past. Years had passed, painting lines of grief on her face, etching the map of her sorrow onto her skin, but her heart remained stubbornly loyal to a love that had become a phantom limb. She felt the ache of its absence, the phantom pressure of a touch that was no longer there. She'd tried. She'd forced herself to go on dates, to smile at other people, to weave new tapestries of potential. She'd even tried dating Marco, a kind man who offered gentle comfort, a beacon of normalcy in her stormy sea of grief. He was patient, understanding, everything she should have wanted. But in his eyes, she didn't see the same spark, the same connection, that had once ignited her soul when she looked at Summer. Every touch, every word, felt like a betrayal to the ghost she carried, a pale imitation of the real thing.
“Sinubukan ko magmahal ng iba pero wala eh ikaw parin talaga, saan kana? Bumalik kana oh” The words were a testament to her unwavering, and perhaps foolish, devotion, a desperate plea whispered into the indifferent wind. The city itself felt like a cruel reminder, every familiar street corner a stage where their memories played on repeat, a constant barrage of sensory triggers that kept her trapped in the past. The scent of street food, the sound of children playing, the sight of the old cinema where they had their first date, all were painful reminders of what she had lost.
Veronica closed her eyes, picturing Summer’s face – the way her eyes crinkled when she laughed, a cascade of tiny lines that spoke volumes of her joy, the way a stray curl would always fall across her forehead, a rebellious tendril that always defied order, the soft curve of her lips, a natural invitation to a tender kiss. A wave of longing crashed over her, almost unbearable, a tsunami of grief that threatened to drown her. It was a physical ache, a hollow emptiness that resonated in her bones.
“May balak ka pa bang bumalik saakin? Babalik ka paba?” The question hung in the air, a fragile hope clinging to the very last thread, a desperate wish whispered into the void. She knew, logically, that it was foolish. Summer had made her choice. She had chosen to walk away, to leave her behind. Yet, a part of her, the tenacious part that still held onto the fragments of their past, the part that refused to let go, could not help but wish, to hope, for a second chance. She was caught in a web of her own making, unwilling to cut the threads of the past that bound her to Summer.
“Nakakapagod kana hintayin pero ikaw yan eh kaya hihintayin kita.” The admission was laced with exhaustion, tinged with a resigned acceptance, the weary sigh of someone who had been fighting a losing battle for far too long. It was a self-inflicted wound, this endless waiting, a masochistic ritual she performed daily, offering up her heart to the phantom love. She knew it was unhealthy, unfair even, to herself. She was sacrificing her own happiness on the altar of a love that was no longer reciprocated. But it was the only way she knew how to love – fiercely, completely, without compromise, a love that was both her greatest strength and her deepest weakness.
But then, a new thought bloomed in the fertile ground of her grief, a seed of self-preservation, a fragile sprout of hope pushing through the cracked earth of her sorrow. It was a quiet, yet powerful, whisper, a voice of defiance rising from the ashes of her heart. “Pero sana hindi ka bumalik oras na okay na ako at hindi na ikaw ang mahal ko.” The words were like a prayer, a vow, a promise to herself. She wouldn’t be stuck in this limbo forever. She would heal, she would learn to live with the ache, she would stitch the gaping wound in her heart, but she would never again let herself be the broken echo of someone else’s love, a mere shadow of the woman she was meant to be. She would not wait for Summer to rescue her; she would rescue herself.
She stood up, the concrete warm against her fingertips, a tangible reminder of the earth beneath her, grounding her in the present. The setting sun cast long shadows across the street, stretching and distorting the shapes of familiar objects, a visual representation of the ways in which her memories were also changing, morphing, becoming less sharp, less painful. She took a deep breath, the air feeling lighter, the weight on her shoulders ever so slightly less, a small victory in her long war of grief. She still loved Summer, the ghost of her love, but she was also beginning to love herself, the woman she was becoming, the woman who was finally choosing to fight for herself, to reclaim her own life. And that, Veronica knew, was a journey she had to take alone. The echoes of “Saan kana?” still resonated, a faint echo of her former pain, but now, they were accompanied by a quiet resolve, a steely determination. She would find her way, with or without Summer. And maybe, just maybe, one day, she would be completely free, liberated from the chains of a love that had become a prison. She would finally bury the ghost and learn to live again, not just survive, but truly live.
Notes: Sometimes, we need to let go of someone who has long been gone from our lives, because if we keep holding on to the past, we won't be able to move forward from the pain. Don't imprison yourself in the memory of someone who has been gone for so long.