In 2014, I prayed to God to make me whole. That year, God crushed me even more. I came with a limp but He immediately had me amputated. I went into that world with a pride of a homeless person but I came out like a hollow zombie, hungry and bleeding and empty. If I came in with a warning; I sure walked out that place with a life sentence.
I worked through that year like it was always Monday after a long weekend. And I stayed. I stayed because each overworked Monday that ended eased through you like a sigh of relief that only Tuesday could bring. You rewarded me with your friendly pink shirt, your warm and solid handshake, your familiar work playlist, your easy small talks, your casual ‘see you tomorrow’.
You drew out your plans with so much confidence that you inked them on the first try. You had to watch me have second thoughts on everything – picking a drink, choosing a bike, crossing the street, raising my hand in praise, and saying yes to ramen. You believed in your dreams like they were all ‘just a matter of time’. You looked at me like I was wasting my mine.
You were never the answer to my prayer. You were simply my should-have-been – my alternate life, if there’s such. Your accomplishments should have been just like mine if I had a bit of courage to pursue them. Your laughter should have been mine to hear if I didn’t second guess saying my jokes out loud. Your face should have been clearly etched in my memory if only I looked you straight in the eye. You’re the kind of man I should have been destined to be with if only I believed that I deserve a love like that. You should have been my answer if only I dared to ask.
You were not meant for me. You were just a brief calm like a slow-build reggae song after bouncing nonstop to trance. You were that crank in the car window right before almost dying of suffocation. You were a quick cold shower before heading back to the heat of summer. You were nothing but a 30-sec ad before that grueling compilation of bad news comes back on.
You were never the answer to my prayer but you, in your brief stay, gave me a part of God’s reply. God didn’t make me whole that year and in that world. We know I didn’t belong there. I would be made whole and sure in another world, another time, another you. In a world of what I thought were just seven billion sad and empty hellos, yours made me jump. But someone, someday, soon I hope... another hello would make my restless world completely stop.