Time flies, eh? Hazel Eyes is back in his hometown again. I’m getting busier, which is good for me.
Yes, Russian Mark is also back here again. Thankfully, he’s with someone else at last. Well, sort of.
Alright, I think I’ll try to recap this as much as I can remember.
Last month was probably the busiest – and the most disastrous – month of this year. I had a lot of classes…and writing orders.
By the way, I failed one writing project…miserably.
I also helped Hazel Eyes with his stuff. I didn’t have to, but I wanted to. He’s my best friend. He’s already like a big brother to me.
His flight was on September 23, almost close to midnight. I’d asked for a Saturday off from work to avoid exhaustion. We’d said farewell with a rather funny incident.
(At Gate 4):
Him: (frowns) “Hey, come on. Don’t do that. You know I’ll be back again.”
Me: (still cries) “I always love having you around.”
Him: (sighs and snifs) “I know.”
(He is about to enter the gate. The guard stops him)
The guard: “Excuse me, sir. This is only for domestic flights.”
(We stare at the screen where the flight schedule is. We exchange amused looks.)
Us: (laugh) “Hahahaha!”
Him: “Now that’s funny.”
(We walk to Gate 3, where he should actually go)
Him: (points at me and glares) “Don’t.”
Me: (wipes my eyes) “Okay, okay. No repeat performance.”
(We hug again)
Me: “I love you.”
Him: “I love you too. Be good.”
Then that was it. Hazel Eyes left.
I went home that weekend. Then I returned to my rented room and went back to work the following week.
Russian Mark attended the writers’ club gathering…again. Thankfully, this time he wasn’t alone.
He was with my Indian friend Tika, who is also his. I didn’t know nor care about the clarity of their relationship. That’s none of my business.
They did look so cozy with each other that night, though. If you ask me how I felt that night, let me give you this one word:
Friends worried about me, but I just shrugged it off. At least, Mark would get off of my back from then on. Well, hopefully. Just leave me in peace. Let me be.
If there was sadness that they may have detected, then believe me: it’s not about him.
It’s more about me. Let’s just say that I’ve become a philophobe once again. Yep, the romantically-challenged side of me is back in business. Don’t get me wrong; I don’t want him back. All is good with the idea of ‘him and her or whoever out there’. (Knowing him, there are plenty. Always.)