It was supposed to be a beautiful day. The sun shone brightly, the bitterness of black coffee tasted just right, few people strolled the park. It was a relatively quiet morning. She seemed relatively happy that morning.
It wasn’t until after almost half an hour of her silence that I noticed something was wrong.
“What’s up?” I asked as casually as I could.
Nothing, she said almost inaudibly. Nothing you could do or help me with, my anxiety translated for me. I stared at her, worried— concerned, not as much for her as it was for me. But it was a wonderful day.
And then, a horrible night.
She broke up with me.
Why, I asked. She just shrugged. Did I do something wrong? Was it another guy? What are you not telling me?
The rest of my questions were left to the empty skies that night, until the next morning.
The weather report said it would be another sunny day, but I knew better. It was raining, very hard, that even my pillow got soaked before noon. God, I hope they think I was high on drugs when they see my eyes, I dreadfully thought as I made my way to the dining table for lunch.
But of course, they already knew. The awkward mealtime silence made that obvious.
Moments and conversations whizzed past. I found myself back on the park, staring up the same sky, only this time alone. Not even a stray cat to intrude on my solitude. Not even a passing love song to torment me, reminding me of her and us and whatever the heck there was supposed to be in my now-shattered future.
Not a drifting cloud in sight for my imagination to play with. Not a stationary nor falling star in sight for my hopes and dreams to pin on, to blame on. Not even a raindrop or dewdrop to mask these imaginary tears bleeding from tired eyes— too tired from staring too far and too long at distant people, wishing and hallucinating that she was there. Because she’s not here, with me. But not anymore.
I heard it first before I felt its kiss: a breeze, warm with a sliver tinge of chill, brushed against my cheeks after it caused a faint rustling among the trees. My eyes followed as branches swayed, as leaves and litter fluttered by, and it was gone— or gone back to the skies. To the empty skies, cloudless, starless; but never without the unseen wind blowing its way throughout the days and nights.
And just like that seeming void in my life where she used to be, now filled with memories and lessons and a newfound appreciation for life and all its unwelcome pains, maybe it’s not so empty after all.