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When Ale finally left for Italy, I thought the hardest part would be falling asleep at night. I was wrong. It’s waking up in the morning that gets so unbearably lonely.

I’ve never been a morning person. I love sleeping in, and anyone in my family or anyone I’ve traveled with can attest to the fact that I’m always last to wake up. I don’t know why but during the two weeks we were together I’d wake up an hour before he does and just sit there, watching him sleep. I’d be thinking too much as usual, about random disconnected things, and I’d come up with some minor revelation about life, myself, or us, and I’d want to talk to him about it. But he looks so peaceful sleeping there, like a little boy, so I remain seated and quiet, watching him. When I feel like the thought bubble is about to burst I start waking him up slowly. I’d crawl back to bed and wrap my arms around his waist and start shaking him gently. “Panda, Panda, Panda,” I’d whisper into his ear. He’d groan, wrap his arms around my neck, and bury my face into his chest to make me shut up. I’d pull away and repeat, until he finally opens his eyes and smiles (even though I know deep down he wants to kill me for not letting him sleep half an hour longer).

I love the way he looks at me in the morning.

These days all I have when I wake up is a pillow underneath my arm, my other hand clutching on to the t-shirt he’d sleep in, which I keep under my head.

I know that this isn’t a gone-forever thing, like death or a break-up. I know I should be happy because the two weeks we had was more than amazing. But then I start remembering all the stuff we did together - hanging out with my friends, riding jeepneys, me playing guitar onstage with him watching from the front row, swimming in the ocean, roaring through the Bohol countryside on a motorcycle, getting lost in Cebu. I remember how excited I was when I went with Anne and Bim to pick him up at the airport very early on Sunday morning, and how Bim wouldn’t stop making fun of me for being so excited and how embarrassed that made me feel - but in a very good way. I remember all these things and I get so so sad, because it feels like I’ll never be that happy again. There are times when it’s okay, when we talk on iChat like how it started, and I feel like I’m not going to shed another tear until I see him later this year. And then there times, such as now, when it occurs to me that there’s nobody who’ll make silly faces at me to calm me down when I start freaking out or nobody to tell me to eat my vegetables at dinner. And thinking that makes me so sad, the only thing I can do is cry to the songs that remind me of him while inhaling the scent of his aftershave (that he accidentally left). I can’t even begin to describe how happy I was when he was here, and how fucking lonely it gets now that he isn’t physically around.

I wish there was someone I could talk to about this. I mean I’ve told my friends how sad I get and although they’re probably tired of hearing about it, I don’t think they’d tell me to shut up. But I haven’t even begun to describe to them how lonely it really gets. Nobody is around during the worst part, in the mornings, when my chest gets so heavy with sadness and the only thing I can do to feel lighter somehow is smoke myself to death in the bathroom and cry until my eyes are swollen for the rest of the day.

Well, I suppose that’s what blogs are for.