Its raining once more. Tropical monsoon showers. And with it, my memories. Deep. Dark. The ones long forgotten start to resurface once more. Understand though that I have write about her now. I feel the minute the rain stops, I will start to forget. Who she is. What she is. How she made me feel. The instances that made me who I am now will always be because of what she made me believe. My addictions will never be complete without her. She was chocolate. The first of all my obsessions.
It was in UP Laguna when we first met. She was a freshman and I was her senior. We were introduced by a common friend. She called herself Chocolate. I told her I was Paul. We both lied of course. And so the story goes that we found ourselves exploring the unknown regions of the human anatomy. Inside the classrooms. My dorm. The Fertility Tree.
I tasted every part of her. She tasted every part of me. We went as far as our hands could carry. To eternity and beyond. Before her, I never knew there was such a thing as eternity. We made love like there was no tomorrow. Night after night after night.
We could barely stand afterwards. She was good. Very very good. She knew how to torture me. And in return, she taught me how to torture her.
She also taught me how to lie. Pretend to love someone. Charm them and get what you want.
Show a little but not much. Always keep your head above the water. Love is nothing more than serotonin. It's good but it won't last very long.
You have to have something for yourself. So that at the end of every night, you still see yourself whole. Beautiful and never lacking.
But like all addictions, we grow past them. The smoking habits. The cotton candies.
We become so much more than what they are.
So I decided to search for more. For more meaning and more touch.
For something bigger than myself. For something that sweeps me off my feet.
She wanted the same.
Although I admit, I learned so much from her, we had to part ways.
Addictions have to end.
She was my one and only. And yet I'm afraid as days turn to years, I will also forget about her.
Like all my other playmates.
So please understand why I need to honor her now. Honor her with this: My memoirs.
For before my dark cherub, before my little mermaid, and before my white chocolate mocha, I was hers. I belonged to no one but her.
And albeit I remember in parts now,
she will remain the most beautiful of all addictions.