Midnight Music

The year I lost you to a country halfway across the world was the year I had my first hypothetical heartbreak.

At the time, I did not realise that it was you. I did not take notice of the larger void that hid itself somewhere in my heart and in my head--I only knew the void that was caused by this certain TV series.

We lost each other in the same way, too.

They were friends, close one at that. They spent years with each other, running, laughing, and being best at what they did. But they had to move away from each other--they had to stay far apart. Fate told them to do so, like fate asked me to stay apart from you.

Unlike the mentioned TV series, our parting was less dramatic but more memorable--at first it did not cause me any pain, but as the years withered by and as the same darkening weather still instilled upon my heart, I grew weary and tired of having this feeling for you. This larger void does not hurt as much as my hypothetical heartbreak, but it lasts longer--it still hurts even mentioning about our days that we spent together. Our glorious days with midnight music, scary movies, fast foods and desserts.

I lost you.

My head is now half-filled with the scenarios of something that could have been. My favourite scenario: you love me with the same intensity as I love you and we are still together, worlds apart, but I'm still yours. Worlds apart and you are still mine. Worlds apart but our bonds are more forceful than the Sun's gravitational pull. Worlds apart but you still unconsciously carry my name in your daily prayer as you go to sleep. Worlds apart but you still remember to stay somewhat sober during your late night outs because you will Skype me in the dawn. Worlds apart and we are still together.

The other half is filled with the nightly remembrance of our time together. Times that I thought we were platonic. Times that I cherish with all my might. Times that you were platonically mine, and I yours.