Entry #5: heal me

Do I have to be dying just to get your attention?

There’s always a time in my life that I wish I was literally dying because I know what you’d do. I mean, What would a kind person not do for a dying person right? I know you’re getting my point, and I’m so desperate I prayed I had leukemia. For days I imagined myself sick, and you’re gonna be there by my side showering me with Love while I’m still alive, well, who would’ve known the law of attraction would work on me (though I wish it would work on you-and-me back together again right? Anyways) I was diagnosed with Stage 2 Dengue, too bad it didn’t last that long for you to get back on me haha stupid thought huh? But it worked, you came to the hospital bringing nothing but your precious time and presence which healed my scarred heart. Okay, too cheesy. But I’m serious, I didn’t ask you to visit me there but I knew you’d come.

Now that I’m back to normal, things in life are back to its abnormality again. All I’m left with are my bruised arm (thanks to my frequent CBC testing) and a broken heart. Ever since that day you visited me and told me you were about to celebrate your first anniversary with your girlfriend, I was devastated and all I did since you left the hospital was imagine your hands on my forehead checking my temperature if I still have fever, I imagined you were just sitting beside me playing with your iPad talking to other patients or to my mom. There was nothing else I could ask for when you were there, nothing can compare to the wholenessI felt, noone else can make me feel that relief when I woke up and saw you walked in inside the room.

I have to be honest, each day that I spent on that hospital, I had hope that you’d spend time with me even for just a little while. Since that first day you visited me, I woke up every morning with excitement for the hope that you’d be there. And everytime I realize that you’re not coming because you have to go home early to talk to your girlfriend, I kept on wishing that the Medical Technologists would get my CBC more times than needed because I would imagine that every injection means they extracted amor nervosa deliria from my blood, just like in Lauren Oliver’s book Delirium, I know I sounded delusional just like what my best friend said,

but the thought comforts me though it doesn’t heal me.

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