Hey, you...

Hey, you. I never heard from you again. The thirty-something, somewhat emotionally mature, non-drama side of me has already accepted the fact that, poof!, just like that you were gone. That side of me has started to realise that there's no point hanging on to something that could have been but never was. That side of me has started to move on.

But hey, I must admit that I still do think about you. Once in awhile, I'll come across some place, some song, some food, something, that would bring back a memory of you and me. I find it a bit weird because you and I never really got past the more than friends, less than lovers stage. And yet, there fragments from the three months we shared come back to mind every now and then.

On Monday nights that I go to the gym in the city, I wonder if I would bump into you at the train station. When the train starts to leave your station, I find myself craning my neck to see if you were one of the passengers that got off that crowded station.

Earlier, I was queueing for registration to Pump class when this song by Echosmith started playing. That song, Cool Kids, will always be a song attached to you. I still remember why. It was a Saturday night. You just came from your rowing session. I spent the afternoon doing my own thing. We were going out for a nice dinner in a part of the city we rarely visit. You were in the shower. I was on the bed, reading the news on my phone or something. Suddenly, this song started playing on the MTV channel. You started singing. You step out of the shower, smelling of whatever shower gel it was that I brought. Your hair wet, beads of water on your shoulder, your bare chest. You're surprised that I do not know the song. I remind you that you and I have an eight year difference. I found it exceptionally cute how you weren't shy at all to sing along with the song, while you got dressed for our date.

Those were the good times. Tonight, for a brief moment, I was reminded of that.

I still don't know what happened to you, to us, to what could have been us. Maybe I'll never find out. Maybe I'm not meant to find out. Sometimes, I wonder if something bad happened to you. Touch wood, of course. Sometimes, there's a part of me wishing that your ghost would visit me in my sleep just to tell me you're alright.

I'm okay. I sometimes think I almost fell in love with you. I am glad that what happened happened before I fell for you completely. Otherwise, it would have been a lot more difficult.

I checked your Instagram account tonight. No new post. Your last post was a dessert plate from the Christmas lunch we had. I came across the words written under your name.

"We say hi, we say bye, like we have never met." Maybe I should've seen this as a sign? I dunno.

I'm moving on. It's just that once in awhile, I like to remember the good times we had.