Things I remember

We met in August. I was trying to heal. Only one way I knew how. You were there, the Glorietta/SM joint; you're wearing your green shirt. I suspect the same one you were wearing on our last night together in BED. The same orange rubber shoes.

Those orange sneakers. Nobody I know could wear orange on their feet and get away with it, not from me. But you
carried it well, with style.

I remember Greenbelt 2. Cena. Absolut - Kurant, they ran out of Citron. Then the carpark. Ah, the carpark.

You call me "Boss" much to my chagrin. Somehow I had the guts to call you "Luvah", and it caught on between us for a while.

I remember your first time in BED. You loved Bluefrog. I told you it will hit you like a rock. You loved it anyway.

I remember my nephew Robbie, just starting to talk, calling you by your name. He was looking for you after we left the kiddie party later that evening early September. I taught him to call you tito, too bad you won't hear him call you that now.

I remember you going to an interview only to find out the office was closed for a November holiday. Good thing, don't you think? You're off to much better things.

I remember you being available and ready whenever I call you to hang out and bar hop. You never complained, even when it's 3am and you were already sleeping. You must have hated me for being so reckless and inconsiderate.

I remember you agreeing to become a last-minute replacement to a road trip to Vigan with my friends, only to find out that you're bumped off the team because the one you're supposed to replace changed his mind and came anyway. Now I wished you were never just a replacement.

I remember your smile... and the way you laugh...and the way you made me laugh. We could break into laughter even before the punchline.

I remember your penchant for Incubus. And your seeming ability to pick out notes from music you hear and play them on your guitar. You sent me your MMS recording of the theme for Brokeback Mountain. I cried when I realized what it was. "A Love That Will Never Grow Old".

I remember telling you the words at that most important moment, all but the one you so longed to hear. You asked me three times if there's something else I wanted to say, and I said it doesn't matter anymore. I do not know how I will be judged by this. Only time will tell.

I write about you now to hedge against a future without you in it. So that I'll remember you even when the emotion is gone, and all that's left is a distant and vague memory of a time when I once found bliss in your arms.