Unfinished

There are times when you come to mind.

And I wonder about what you're doing and how you are. And yet I never pick up the phone to call, in fact, I might have forgotten your number now. Funny, because only recently, I still did. Someone asked me if I have mental blocks. And I wonder if you're one of it.

And I wonder, too, what it would be if we were still talking.

I wonder about the what ifs, what could bes, and what might have beens.

I also wonder, what we would say to each other if we ever do cross paths in the future. Would I recognise your face if I see you again? Would you remember me? Would we pretend we didn't see each other and walk away? Or would we stop to say hello, even stop for a drink for old times' sakes?

I've no business wondering. I did force myself to forget.

And its strange that, almost always, invariably, the memory of you visits me when I'm at my saddest. When episodes of my life flashes before my closed eyes like seasons from a sitcom. So clear it was almost like yesterday.

In a way, perhaps, you're one of my regrets, if I have any. Perhaps because between you and I, its unfinished business.

So many things left unsaid, so much emotions left unspoken, so much left unexplained.

Although, I could, in a way, conclude from the lack of communication, a form of closure in itself, still, it's different than hearing it from you.

But perhaps, that always was our issue in the first place. You never really did speak much, and for myself, then, being young as I was, neither did I.

Henceforth, I promised myself that I would speak my mind, at whatever cost, because when it comes to you and I....

I just regret how things turned out.