It was that day. I distinctly remember us talking about the world ending. We were bored, and you've always had a thing for doomsday scenarios. I always thought you were a little bit lame to ascribe so much to conspiracy theories, even though I knew they interest you because of their scandalous nature and shock value. I pretended not to be bored to tears, but I genuinely kept on laughing because you were being so serious. I was like, let's take a commemoration picture of this random day, and this random conversation (that I'd much rather forget, but I didn't say that out loud.) You said we should take a picture of us holding hands. It was the first time I learned how to use the timer setting on my camera.
When we saw the picture afterwards, we both involuntarily shuddered at how cheesy it was. "Pano natin malalaman na tayong dalawa yan? Eh puro kamay lang." You wouldn't even know it's us. It's all hands.
"You would know. We would know," you said. After that we had snacks, it was street food in front of your condo. We used our hoodies as makeshift chairs on the curb, so that our butts wouldn't get so filthy. Just you, me, kwek-kwek, and Coke. When I got home, I didn't end up deleting the single picture we had that day, even if it was less than stellar. (Read: fugly composition, out-of-focus, my fat hand, etc.)
There is always a time for forgiving. It's so cliche to write about this on Valentine's Day, but I don't mind. It's about time you know that I'll be okay, and I know that you meant it. We were great once.
PS: As I am typing this, my brother is writing some girl a letter. 11 pages last time I checked.