You know what’s the most difficult job in the world?
I’ll tell you.
It’s to be a writer.
May it be music, or film or novel,
A writer must learn how to reopen the wounds of his/her past.
I made a story about the very first guy whom I loved the most.
He was my very first college best friend.
He loved me. I loved him… but I never told him about how much I loved him.
I was sixteen when he first told me that he loved me.
I wanted to tell him that I do too, but I was so scared. I was scared that I might scare him.
Now that I am years a part from who I was back then, I feel like I missed a very vital event of my childhood.
I should have told you that I loved you too.
I love you T. I loved you so much.
I never thought that love could feel as powerful as a tidal wave– and we got swept away; like two bodies without life, surrendering to the circumstance that’s engulfing who we are– who we were.
Oh! If only I could tweak the hands of time! Back to when I was sixteen and you were seventeen, I’d tell you the very words that you’d like to hear escape from the crevices of my tightly shut mouth.
“I love you”.
And now that this is the life that I am living, I will tell you that I love you.
At the very core of every story that I shall write, there would be the shadow of a boy whose mom lives in New York; the shadow of my very first “I love you”.
God, I wish I had the guts to tell you the very beat my heart was dancing to.
I love you, I love you, I love you
I loved you.
I loved you.
And I am very sorry you never knew.