"Iphoon man ko paganay
na dakun mailay
oba adun a ranon ka sa ginawa ko a rasay

Somiyarig ako ruka
na bako dun miakasana,
ko mga katharo ka na
da nga bo panomana.

Da bata dun di makasabar sa rata ginawa ruka."

Perhaps this will be the last letter I will ever write for you. We have reached an impasse and there is nothing left to be said that can possibly turn the situation around.



Although there is nothing that can be uttered that can change your mind, I have a thousand words still unsaid. I will take the liberty to write some here.

For the past three hundred and seventy-eight days, we have forged a bond that has a semblance to what love is supposed to be. There were countless nights when we cursed at Globe for the inability to provide a stable line that can carry our sweet words over thousands of miles without interference. Despite the choppy line, we could carry on hours of conversations until the sun is up and forces us to succumb to the need to sleep. With our eyes closed, the space between Luzon and Mindanao shrunk to a few millimeters. We could almost feel each other's heartbeat as our fingers intertwine in the recesses of our minds.

We were almost convinced that we are one.

Remember the first time we met? It was a cloudy afternoon and the beach did not look very inviting. You wore your black Da'wah shirt with a sahal around your neck. I was in my tattered jeans and leather jacket. The good boy meets the hipster. I felt the buzz of electricity in the air, and I knew we are not meant to be just friends.

Because we are meant to be strangers eventually.

I lost count of how many times you said you love me. I know I never said the three magic words back. This is precisely the reason, because I fear that those three words are mere words. They don't hold a promise of a foreseeable future.

They don't hold a promise of commitment.

I was right to not give my heart fully to you. When you were torn between your friends and me, I don't have to say who you gave more importance to, we both know who. They don't even know who I am supposed to be to you, do they?

This is the reason why I am leaving. I am leaving because you refuse to man up for me. I am leaving because when your biography is written, my name won't be mentioned not even on the footnotes. I am the shadow that plays in between the lines but never acknowledged. I am leaving because even after more than one year, I cannot see exactly what is in it for me. I am leaving because I refuse to fall deeper.

I am leaving our inside jokes, the sound of your laughter, and the that plans we made together.

I am leaving uncertainty, doubts and the plans that never seem to materialize.