Dedication: … It's our song… It's for you…
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A serious case of déjà vu was in order for Ino.
The last time she took a seat by the phone—if she remembers right—waiting for a shrill from the phone, was when she was fifteen. She remembers blushing before the ring, smiling before the conversation, and falling in love before anything began. Ino could remember—but rather faintly—how it felt like to be hopelessly in love.
To recall how commitment and promises tasted like, to reminisce on the sugar of 'to have and to hold' and to hark back to a love story of your own made its bitter mark on her. But to evoke and accept—at least try to—the ending that didn't seem to be happy at all was something not even the brightest of raindrops could cover up.
Will I always be there for you?
When you need someone, Will I be that one you need?
Will I do all my best to, to protect you?
When the tears get near your eyes
Will I be the one that's by your side?
She tried to brush off the memories of sharing starry nights, how they had named most of the stars together—and sometimes forget if they've named one already or not. The stars still greet her every night, the same beautiful ones reserved for her roof alone, but they had lost their luster, too, like her eyes. They seemed to be waiting for him, like how she did.
Rain frequently come for her. She'd delight silently in their presence. No one can tell raindrops from the tears in her eyes. She'd remember how she had gotten a cold, more than once, for walking home in the rain without an umbrella, thinking of him still. He told her to be more careful and stop tempting the flu from taking over.
Will I be there when you call me in the middle of the night?
Will I keep the rain from falling down into your light?
I promise, I promise
I promise I will.
It was one of the greatest bruises that grew in her, one that she wished would never go away. Talking to him every night was her past time, making foolish and make-believe proposals and marriages and baby boomers. They had once talked about how their wedding cake should have purple frosting, of how they planned on having two kids—a boy and a girl—and of their plans to die together, in battle, with petals shrouding them at their deathbed.
The air and flight of romance never left their souls. Until, of course, the sparks had to end. The rain decided to one day just become cloud's tears. Soon enough, the stars then chose to shine for someone else, someone who probably needed them more than just a teenage couple. Everything just suddenly lost its magic. And both of them—in their own ways—had aided that magic in fluttering away.
And for a moment, she asks the sky… Why?
Will I take tender care of you?
Take your darkest night and make it bright for you
Will I be there to make you strong and to lean on?
When this world has turned so cold
Will I be the one that's there to hold?
The ring of the telephone next to her wakes her up, like the bawl of a widow at a cat's ear: merciless, heartbreaking. Again, like it used to be, her chest tightens and she runs out of breath. Before she can retrieve her breath back, the third ring has arrived. With or without her brain in her throat, she'd have to pick up the phone.
Like how she used to be, hope had lightened up in her eyes again. But, she predicts, not for long.
"Hello?" her tiny voice bounces off the four walls of the room before it reaches the receiver. The coil around her finger kills the flesh in her hands, squeezing the life out of her slowly. A desert grows in her lips, stopping the flow of her words. "Oh."
She purses her eyes shut, irritated, consumed. "I'm… I'm sorry…" she mumbles, hardly knowing what she's saying, "You've got the wrong number." And there, she replaces the phone back onto its pedestal. Her pal had dewed on the phone, and the electricity of the lines seeped through her inevitably.
It's not him.
Yeah
And I love you more every day
And nothing will take that love away
When you need someone
I promise I'll be there for you (there for you)
I promise
Another prayer left unanswered. It's like another letter unsigned. But with every answer left unsaid comes a price, a price heavier than a head and a price lighter than nothing existent at all. Perhaps prayers, many of them, are meant to be left as is. Prayers, at least more than half, should be left as… just prayers.
Prayers… that will always be a question… Always the same…
When will the love, she asks, come back? And why, in the beginning, did it ever go?
And I promise (and I promise)
I promise (oh I promise you)
I will be there when you call me (when you call me)
I promise (I promise)
I promise I will
Ino tries to smile. Tomorrow, maybe, she comforts herself through words she can't even verbalize…
Maybe tomorrow, he'll call me. Hopefully, he'll remember me.