Seasons in Life

i. is it over now?

Seven years ago.

He is the reason why my notepad is full of poetry, my muse that inspired the words written in each line, and for that, I thanked my heart for letting me love him and experience what it feels like to be loved in this godforsaken world. Because of him, I have happiness to look back on every time I open my notepad.

I called Ivan earlier to meet me in the mini park inside our subdivision, where we always hang out after class. The ambiance screams Christmas; there will only be a week left, and it will officially be Christmas. The beautiful decorations of each house scream happiness, and the way they light up the mood and the children singing Christmas songs from house to house—that's the thing in the Philippines; it will never fail to make you feel the Christmas spirit.

"Hey, beautiful," his voice ringed in my ears, and my gaze went from the decorations to him to see Ivan smiling at me as he sat and kissed the top of my head. "It's cold out here; wear this," he handed me his favorite jacket, and I uttered a 'thank you,' and put it on. I didn't even realize the cold air as I stayed in this place; I guess I was lost in time.

Seeing him happy breaks my heart for what I'm about to do; he doesn't deserve it, but I have to. I'm too much to handle; I'm to vulnerable and too fragile, and he doesn't need that; he doesn't deserve me; he deserves much better than me.

"What's wrong, love?" he asked, concern lacing in his tone, and my tears started to well up before I could even utter a word. He intertwined our fingers, his thumb rubbing my thumb softly, comforting me with whatever I'm feeling right now.

"I'm sorry, Ivan," I utter slowly. its Christmas for heaven's sake, and it is supposed to be happy, but here I am crying and feeling the weight of the world on my back. I can see that he's confused and, at the same time, worried about me. He's always worried and concerned for me, and he doesn't need to feel that I'm his responsibility because I'm not. "Let's break up, Ivan. I'm sorry, let's end this."

"No, Lavenna, no," he utters, his voice breaking, and it dropped, and my heart shattered like a glass on the floor. If it is picked up, it will only hurt you. He gripped my hand as his tears started to well up, and I wiped it as soon as it fell down on his cheeks. He doesn't deserve to cry, especially because of me. I do not deserve his tears, and he does not deserve me. "I love you; please let us fix this. Tell me what I did; I will gladly fix it; just do not leave me."

"You did nothing wrong, Ivan," I assured him. The problem is me, and I can't be fixed. "I love you; I hope you know that." 

I kissed his cheeks, and suddenly his arm enveloped me in a hug, his face buried in my neck, and I could feel his tears streaming down, as well as mine. Everyone was in bliss, and here we are in misery.

"I know you're doing this because you feel like you're a burden," he muttered, and I shut my eyes, knowing he reads me like the back of his palm and sees rights through me. "You're not a burden to me, my love. I told you, I'm always here for you. I'm not going to leave you; please don't break up with me."

"I'm sorry, Ivan, I really am." I apologize; I can't keep him; it's not fair. "You'll find someone better, someone that you can rely on, someone that will truly deserve you. I know she's pretty, smart, caring, and will be there for you anytime."

"I want you," he muttered, burying his face in my neck and inhaling my scent before I walk away and never turn back ever again. "I don't want anyone else; I want you, Lavenna. I always want you."

"I don't want you anymore," I lied. My voice is shaking. I want him more than anything, but I just can't keep him. That's the thing about love: you can't keep someone if it hurts, even if it means you love that person with all your heart. Some are not just meant to be kept by our side. "I'm sorry."

"You're lying, love," he uttered, tears streaming in his eyes. "I know you're lying."

I am lying. I wanted to say it to him, but I can't. My mind is in chaos right now, and he doesn't deserve someone who can't think straight, someone who's mentally and emotionally unstable. I don't want him to be drained because of me. I don't want him to get tired of understanding me; I don't want him to worry about me anymore; and I don't want him to cry for me. I love him, and I want him to breathe fresh air, and I'm a mess.

"I'm not," I firmly stated, breaking us from our embrace because I'm afraid that if we kept hugging, I wouldn't be able to walk away from him, and I might take all the words I said. It breaks my heart as I gaze into Ivan's eyes. His brown eyes are no longer shining; they are filled with misery, and its all because of me. I can't make him cry anymore. I took off his jacket and handed it to him. "Here you go; I'm not cold anymore."

"Please keep it," he softly responded. His fingertips hovered over my cheeks, rubbing them softly as our gazes locked. He always does this to soothe me, and now I have to live a life without feeling his presence by my side or the pressure of his kiss and embrace.

I nodded, knowing if I didn't keep the jacket, he would continue to insist. I stood up without saying a word, but he grabbed my wrist and hovered over my height.

"Call me if you need anything," he uttered, and I hate how he is still willing to listen to my woes. "Just because we broke up doesn't mean I don't care for you; I always do. I'm just a call away, Liv."

My heart dropped the moment Liv left his mouth; it's a nickname my brother gave it to me, and I always love that nickname, and him saying it breaks my heart and can't be fixed or picked up.

"I'm not going to call, Ivan," I firmly said, and he needs to know that even if it means I'll be all alone all night. "Goodnight, Ian," I said one last time.

I could see his tears stream down his face the moment I called him Ian. It's also a special nickname for him, as it was also my brother who gave it to him, my sweet brother.

I pictured his face in my head even if I memorized every corner of his face, the way his brown eyes lit up when he laughed, and how they shifted into hazel the moment they hit the sunlight. His perfect jaw, which I loved to trace when we kissed and looked into each other's eyes, the way his lips curled when he smiled, and the sound of his laugh that imprinted my skin. God, I'll miss him.

"I will wait for your call, my love," he softly said as he kissed the top of my head, and all the ranging thoughts were calmed; he always knows how to soothe my mind.

I plastered a faint smile before I walked away from the park and from him without turning back. I continue walking, letting the Christmas song engulf my ears and the cold breeze embrace me as I blink the tears that are still pooling in my eyes.

"Lav?" a worried voice called me, and my eyes started to betray me and let the tears flow as I saw who it was: my best friend, Bridget. The girl who stood by me when the world turned its back on me—aside from Ivan, I have her, and maybe I won't be alone all night.

"Bri," I called her softly, and without another word, she rushed into me and embraced me in a warm hug, easing the coldness I'm feeling. This is the thing I love about her; she doesn't force me to say things, she will comfort me in any way she can, and it got me thinking about what I did in this lifetime to deserve someone like her.

"I broke up with him," I cried, and Bridget didn't ask anything; instead, she tightened the hug and soothed my back up and down. "I'm an idiot."

"No, you're not an idiot," she muttered, even if she didn't know the full story. Bridget loathed when I said hurtful words to myself, and she always lifts me up when all I want to do is crumble on the floor and wait for it to drag me down.

My phone lit up, and my entire system collapsed when I saw who it was from—a text message from Ivan. I didn't even change his contact name; it was still written as my love, and he wrote me, 'I love you, Lavenna.' I didn't even change my lock screen yet; it's our picture smiling last Valentine's Day when he gave me a bouquet of tulips.

I didn't reply; I can't because I know I'll end up calling him and he will suffer again, and I can't do that to him.

It's for the better that I broke up with him; I know it's for the better, and I hope he will realize it. We're really over.