tyrantlove

Maybe, just maybe. He always have this unending fascination toward these three words. Para bang pinapangarap n’ya na sabihin at bumuo ng pangungusap na magkakasama itong tatlong salita. Anw, He was wondering lately, what if they ended it abruptly; if they never got to be together in a protracted relationship, if he didn’t force her to stay with him every damn time she had break it up whenever she felt the need to. She knows him and he knows himself. They would have both agree that changing him up wasn’t an option. It was a lie from him to her that prevents her from leaving. To be free, yes, from him. Now, he thought about it, about the “what-ifs”, he realized they would be happy, not that she’s currently sad but they’d be happy without the cringing thought of who’s happier, of whose loss was it. Was it his? Was it hers? Definitely wasn’t hers. “Was it?” he thought. He wouldn’t probably feel like shit at the moment. He might have already over it by now. He wouldn’t have listen to sad songs and infect his already, lonely sad freaking/awesome life. He wouldn’t even try to write a stupid letter. He will not be hurting anymore. Just the what-ifs and it tears his fucking life apart. “Maybe, just maybe it will not anymore.” he said, finally.