We weren’t Popoy and Basha. One of us doesn’t get to have their second chance. Remember when you told me you wanted to give it another shot? That you were sorry and that you still feel the same. I thought it was fine to give people second chances especially when they deserve them the most. Or was I wrong?
We weren’t Popoy and Basha. I never got over you getting over me. You were the kind of memory that encourages itself to tear me apart, I just can’t get enough of the pain. And even though you’ve completely forgotten about me, about how I would always remind you of the little things you’d constantly deny you’re great at, the feeling you get whenever we would have the time to talk, those moments I made you smile and flinch; even though you’ve overlooked everything we had in the past, there wasn’t a time that you never made me proud to have loved you.
We weren’t Popoy and Basha. Our happily-ever-after ended too early to even be noticed. All these passing years, I always question myself what ever happened to forever. Maybe the word itself was already overused it doesn’t have a meaning anymore.
I never got my second chance; don’t you think I deserve it of all people? I asked this myself many times because I guess I still care. Do you still care? Is there any part of you that still wants to try again?