I got my hopes up.
I knew there was an equal chance for me to either have one or lose one. I, as a realistic, had no idea what to wish for, but the problem was I knew what I wished for. And I got my hopes up.
And as we all know, hope is a dangerous thing.
I still remembered the day where I first heard the news. At that moment, it all seemed vague and was hard to swallow. I began to think of the possibilities and the more I did, the more it seemed to be wonderful. The pros clearly outweighed the cons. I could already image what would be of me in the next year, in the next five years, and in the next forever. I fell in love with the imagination without keeping one of my feet into the reality.
And Monday came. It started with a rough morning and afterwards, things were moving in a slower speed, making it seemed like life wanted me to suffer longer. And I did. I cried all afternoon, and just this early morning, I woke up in the dawn crying my eyes out without even remembering what dream I had that brought me to this emotional turbulence.
How I wished things were different if only I had known.
If only. The two words kept resonating in my head like a broken stereo. Of all things I did recklessly, this unplanned silly thing was the worst, I mean, IS the worst. I did not know why I was using past tense in this writing because it still haunts me. it still brings the worst. it still aches.