#woojoo

And being the sweet, corny girl you were that time, you wrote a poem for him. Although you crumpled it and threw it in the trash can later, finding it ugly.

But the next day, his band performed at the festival your school held. He stood in the middle, mic near him and his guitar. And when his mouth opened, your jaw dropped. 

It was the exact poem you had written about him. The one you threw in the trash can. Only this one had been turned into a refreshing love song. His eyes roamed the crowd until they stopped on you.

And he sang the entire song, only looking at you. This was the feeling again. The feeling where you don't hear or see anyone else. Just them.

After the performance, he had caught up to you. 

"Hey," He smiled. 

"Hey?" You answered innocently.

"Noticed the lyrics?" 

"You know what, I was kind of distracted, but yeah. Those were from my poem." You laugh.

"Yeah, sorry for plagiarizing. I was just trying to clean up when someone hit the trash can, then I saw the paper with my name." He laughs.

Embarrassment clung to your skin. "Yeah, sorry. I'll make sure to rip it next time, then." You said trying to remove the awkward feeling.

"Oh, no, it's completely fine. Besides, I needed a little inspiration. And I just wanted to ask if I can get your number?"

"What?" You shook your head.

"Your number." But he did not wait and grabbed your phone and entered his number instead. Everything felt like a fever dream.

"There.” He gave your phone back. “I'll call, so don't hang up on me." He winked before pulling his guitar back up on his shoulder, walking away so casually.

He did call. You didn't hang up. You called until it was 3 am. 

Thank God it was the weekend, or else you wouldn't have spent your precious time with him. He was the sweetest guy you knew.

Always updating you, always keeping you reassured that you're the only girl in his life, making sure you get back home safely, always eating your meals. 

Perfect. 

Until not.

You had your doubts in the middle of your 7-month relationship. He was not answering your calls often, not texting back, and suddenly made his texts short with "Sorry, I'm busy" or making promises like "I'll make it up to you, promise."

He failed you. And that left you heartbroken for the next 3 months. You hated it. 

You always slept late waiting for any sign of his calls and texts. But nothing. You showed up with eye bags every day. You hated him as much as you couldn't let him go.

You went over to his place unannounced. There, you saw him with his headphones on and a mic in hand. Bopping his head to whatever beat he was making. His smile was the same, easy, just like how he smiled at you the very first time you met each other.

You went up to him and snatched his headphones away. He snapped at you. “What the hell- oh, was sup babe?”

His face quickly calmed.

“‘Wassup’? You haven't been texting or fucking calling me, that's what's up.” You frustratedly mocked. 

“Well, I have stuff to do.” He excused, lips pursed.

You scoffed. “But I’m your girlfriend.” Tears brimming in your eyes.

“I know, but this is more important.” He shrugs pointing his hands at the computer.

Your heart sank deep. And your eyes burned in range. While you suffered, he was having the time of his life with his music. You cried every night while he just sang his way through. 

And he treated music more seriously. 

You were just in second.

It fucking hurt. Like someone threw salt at a fresh wound. 

You threw his headphones away, slapped him in the face, and told him you were done.

But now, a year has passed since that day, and you still have the very same paper with your poem. You forgot that you even have it. 

♫ I watch from the edges of your busy day,

Admiring the kindness in all that you say.

A light in the distance, so steady and true,

I find myself smiling while thinking of you ♫

It was sweet back then, but looking at it now made you burst into laughter at how corny you were. How naive you still were even after your first love.

You hold up the old paper with your right hand. And in your left hand, you flicked your thumb making the lighter ignite.

You placed it under the paper and watched as it burned the bittersweet memories of the two of you that you no longer want to reminisce about. 

Thank you, Next!

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