the unsent message

San Churros, September 4.

"Are you going to send it or not?" You asked.

I kept staring at the message, reading it over and over again. Completely ignoring what you said.

-

It's exactly what I would like to say. But the question is, should I?

"Maybe it's just in my head. You know my tendency of over-thinking."

As our desserts arrived, all you did was rub your forehead. Sensing all I'm doing is finding an excuse not to send it. Like a friend once said, the higher the risk, the larger the rewards. but then again, the deeper the downfall if it fails.

"What if it's too much?"

You shrugged. an 'up-to-you' shrug.

I couldn't. Despite my best efforts to have the courage to send it, I just couldn't. The thought of the possible risk of rupturing whatever that was left of our friendship, held me back from doing so.

I just don't want to be seen as that over-dramatic guy. Sorry, you kind-of are.

But what if it did work? I've never been as comfortable around someone or someone who was so comfortably open to me. Keyword there, was. Would it restore what we had before? probably - not.

Alas, it remains at the back of a moleskin filled with notes.

The message which ends,

"And I'm sorry if I did, hope to hear from you."

être poursuivi.

written by I.O and Fi.