Now I'm breaking promises.

The night of October 17, you told me that you broke your mirror using your fist because the face that's looking at you seemed strange. 

You asked, "am i even myself?"

without hesitation, i answered, " even if you're not, I'm still here."

then you looked at me with your gaze that fails to encompass all messiness you think you possess. i looked at you with all the care i refuse to pour to anyone unless its you.

It will always be you

even if I am not myself anymore.

--

Your name is eternally inked on my memory and before I would crumble down because I was a hypocrite who refused the impact you have done on my life. But now, this, with the last piece that I will give you space to be in, is for the light and the darkness that you brought. Now, I am grateful because I might have lost myself along our journey, but through you, I learned too that I just have to look at my mirror.

My head still remembers the feeling of your kiss that consolidated me when I was trapped and suffocated in a square room that is meant for 50 people. My head still remembers the pat of your hand that gave me the ability to breathe that time. My ears still remember the sound of your comforting voice that made me unleash tears that are long dried. My ears still know the words you uttered when I called you one time just so I can feel. You knew how to fill that void. My eyes never forgot (and probably will never) your funny smiling face that always made fun of me. Your handwriting is like a tattooed sight that even if I suck at penmanship, I could copy yours. My nose memorized the smell of your perfume whenever you embrace the parts of me that stink. Of course, my mouth is the most reminiscing part of me. Because it never failed to say your name as if its mine. Oh, how nice it was to repeat it every day. Because your name is a safe word that can suddenly make me feel accepted.

Maybe when we were young we had our ropes connected. We found solace in the jokes of dying until we could not joke anymore. The rope died.

With this last piece, I am probably disoriented. This is a disorganized thought that I just randomly wrote because I want to finally tell everything. Maybe from the start and up until the end. Or maybe just in the middle. Or maybe I'll just write you.

You were a mystery and I was a pretend detective who felt the need to solve you. I was stupid to think of you like a story I can write, a trophy I can wave, a genre I can unravel. You are a person and you are capable of changing. But nevertheless, it was great that I was able to trace footprints, look for clues, and felt like I have a hat of achievements on top of my hand. You made me fly high.

I am happy that you can now look in the mirror and see yourself. You don't bruise your hand anymore. You look good. I will forever love you because for years you gave me shelter. You listened to my woes and childishness that I don't show to anyone. You hugged me when nobody wanted to touch my hand. You kissed my insecurities and made me feel complete. 

I know I promised to be there even if you are not yourself... but forgive me because I am now leaving you here.