Dear John,
It wasn't too long ago when I thought I had the happiest day of my life (color). I'm glad you made me realize this early that I was wrong about that, though I do not regret taking the chance to see you on that Tuesday noon despite my busy schedule. Besides, it was something I waited long enough for and I would be lying if I say that I wasn't jacked up. I liked the gesture of two hands clutching in seconds for the very first time, the exchange of smiles, the meeting of two new friends. That was a good time we had, THE LEAST THING I THOUGHT WE BOTH HAD. Thank you for the conversation cut by time as soon as you had to say goodbye with a promise that you will come back. I smiled when your bus left town. I walked home with some kind of feeling that was common three years ago. That was with Nick, the one that got away, like literally, because he took his first sail in Singapore and he nicely told me about it three days before his flight. However, this isn't about Nick or anyone who showed the same calm surface. This is about what lies beneath that surface, the damage of betrayal on the days that came after. Everything's a lie. Everything's the opposite of what you let me saw, but I don't blame you. You are fine. This isn't about you, like what someone would say when she feels sorry and starts taking responsibility for the whole mistake ALONE. This is about me, being too vulnerable, being too blind, being failed by expectations. I just believed in the beauty abaft your mask. I didn't know I was actually meeting the most terrible man who would turn the conversation irreparably awkward.
