He was there. He was waiting for me. That night, I was expecting something he usually ignited in me every time he smiled at me

but I guess it was not my heart

. Well, I was accustomed to that delightful madness which I fought for quite some time. But after a while, when I looked at his eyes, the usual joy I used to perceive was not there. I knew there was something that bothered him. The joy I saw was blurred by worry. Like the usual scenario of two people together with one noticing the uneasiness of the other, I asked him if he was okay. Like the usual answer for that question, he lied, saying he was.

That was the 30th day of August. He was supposed to go home, but he went out with me although it was really late. I knew it wasn’t right that we were together. The inner me insisted anyway; it wasn’t that wrong. That time, I thought fate just brought us together---the two lonely souls who find happiness in the metaphors of each other poetry. Yes, I found nourishment for my soul in his verses for me. Those lines that say;

I have been telling myself to go to Mars

So that no one knows me

I have been wanting to go to places I do not know

Where I can only see stars to guide me

Well, I wonder if I still have to go there

Since stars in here showed me paths

Right into your eyes

There I am lost

But I want it anyway

To be lost in the maze

With you

They were nonsense for others, but they meant so much to me. They had the power that revitalized my soul. They may not be true, but I was helpless. They had won me before I knew they should not.

While on the jeepney, I experienced the expectation-versus-reality crisis in which reality was far beyond what it was in my imagination. Instead of traveling somewhere wonderful by merely talking, we fell into a troubled silence. Like the mundane us together, I was expecting too many interesting things we would be talking about, from the most nonsense things existing up to the things invisibly prevailing, but it didn’t happen. Pebbles to stars. That’s how he summarized them. I loved looking at his eyes. It seemed that the unfathomable are kept there, and only when I looked at them that I unveiled their mysteries. The more I tried to resist the force it may have, the more its trance pulled my soul to indulge with his. He loved to tell me about history, but I loved him more when he explained mathematical concepts that I had long been wishing to apply in my poetry.

We were both young teachers, but we differed in experiences. He grew up in the city but longed for his childhood days in his province. On the other hand, I was raised in our province but was aggressive in breaking my mountain walls and explore what’s outside of them. He taught Math, but he loved English. I majored in English, but I desired to learn more about geometry. We used to sing the melody of the Classics. We both had the silly dream of conquering the universe---to talk to the moon and count the stars. We argued most of the time about certain issues, but we always ended up creating a world of laughter. We were soulmates, and our poetries could attest that. That’s not an understatement.

I held his hand, and he looked at me which his eyes are drooping while he forced to smile. I knew we together that night was wrong, so I asked him what worried him that bothered me more, but he just shook his head.

“Shall we just go home?” I asked, and he responded by merely shaking his head again.

He smiled faintly and held my hand. “Aren’t you happy to be with me?”

“I am,” I replied

He just put my head closer to his shoulder and kissed me by the forehead. Then, he sighed.

When we got to the plaza and strolled around, he tried to break the silence between us. He talked about Pigafetta and how he wrote about the expedition of Magellan.

“Do you think Pigafetta narrated the events accurately?” He solicited my opinion while studying the painting on the wall.

“For me, history is one-sided than being factual. Historians, remember, are still humans. They can’t always be objective. They still insist perceptive about things.” I told him, attempting to stimulate a good conversation just to shift his attention to the thing that obviously had disturbed him.

He heaved a heavy breath and changed the course of the conversation while he led us to the bench nearby.

“I withdrew money, but when the money was about to go out, the machine suddenly went offline.” He recalled. “When I looked at the receipt, I guess my money is already deducted.”

“So, that is why he looked so anxious? How much did you lose? You can go to the bank tomorrow anyway. You can just settle that. Just be okay.” I comforted him, but the effort was likely futile. He was still so cold but never distant.

“Are you happy with me?” He shifted the conversation again, scratching his head as he sheepishly looked at me.

“Yes, I am alright with you,” I answered him, and I sounded uncertain, for that was not what I really should answer. I was really happy with him, and the happiness was just right.

He sighed again and sat down on the bench. “Do you know how it feels to choose between what you want to do and what you need to do? He teased me, recalling the line of the story I told him to read.

I just fell silent. I was afraid to continue the dialog having the hints where it would lead to.

But after a couple of seconds, I collected my thoughts and answered him.

“You choose what makes you happy?”

“What if I am happier when I am with you?” He looked more worried that time. He looked he felt like crying. He seemed to press his hand on the forehead.

I was twitter-patted, but I convinced myself not to be swayed by what he said. I thought of it as more of an exaggeration, but not a lie, though.

“So, you will go to the bank tomorrow?” I got rid of that kind of conversation, and later on, I realized I should not have brought it up again.

“I don’t know how to tell her.”

“Her? You mean it’s hers? Hearing that made my heart beat faster.

“It’s ours, but the account name is hers.” He stood up, suddenly turning his back to me, but he sat down again; that time, he distanced a bit from me.

I remained composed as if I was not affected. I didn’t even know why I should.

“Just settle it now. We better go home now.” I stood ready to go if only he didn’t pull me back to my seat.

“Let’s not think about it now. Tomorrow you said, right?” He pulled me closer to him without letting go of my hand.

“I don’t know what alibi to tell her why I am here.” He continued tapping the fingers of his hand he placed on my knees.

Then, I distanced a bit from him and reacted, “You will tell her we’re together?

“No. If you were her, would you not doubt why I am in this place at this hour” He exclaimed. I didn’t know how to describe how he felt that moment anymore. He seemed to control his tone.

Then, he shook his head. “Tsk…Tsk…I know I should not have done this. I know I should not have felt this way.”

“How do you feel?” I asked him, trying to cover up the guilt which started to consume me.

He was silent for a while and said in a lost tone. “I am happy with you.”

I didn’t know if I should be guilty or happy, but I managed to ask him, “Aren’t you happy with her?”

“I am happier with you.” He muttered while raising his left leg and rested it on the bench. I was no longer sure how I should really feel. “I sometimes even wonder why she can’t be like you. Like this, we can talk about this and that. I am losing my patience. I am tired.” He confessed, looking at the distance, I could no longer measure how far.” He sighed again. I was just silent partly because I felt a pinch in my heart, but I was not jealous.

“Wait…Why are we talking about that? Aren’t we here to be happy?” He wanted to escape from the tension of the conversation. “What am I to you?”

“Friend.” I was seemingly out of words though both pensive and defensive. “You love her, right? You should not bother yourself thinking matters about us. I am your friend. Be happier with her.”

“Aren’t you happy with me?” He annoyed me than reassuring something from me.

“I love your poetry for me. They feed my soul.” I answered him, wishing him to understand the bitterness I felt. “But it isn’t right for us to be happy together.”

We fell into a troubled silence again. He didn’t argue anymore.