lost...and well, lost. full stop.

i just realized something.

when he was happy, or claimed to be, he hid it.

there are two things a man cannot hide, goes a saying: a cough, and if he is in love.

he was very good at hiding the latter.

but when things got bad, and sour, he showed it immediately. the silence. the facebook posts. the bitterness of his actions and his words.

"sino yan," he asked M, when M answered one of my phone calls. he himself wouldn't pick up his phone, and M hadn't had a stroke yet then, and being his neighbor, was my nearest link to him. "kung si Gina lang yan, ayokong kausapin."

when in love with me--or so he claimed--he couldn't even hold my hand in public. never kissed me in public. never took my photo. couldn't introduce me properly to his son, his parents, his uncles, his friends. like a dumb fool i always stood back, an insipid smile on my face, telling myself how endearing his cruelty was.

he only posted "in a relationship" on facebook last December, when he finally felt i would really leave him.

today, he took down that status. after two months of silence and yes, bitter messages and actions.

i think i owe it to myself to feel bad. just a little. as a friend recently posted on twitter, 'the only things that should be kept bottled up are wine and vinegar.'

i always felt love--as well as grief (even if only temporary)--should be uncorked. grief and despair from the slaves of the US south were sung into the air and permeated the air, absorbed by the leaves, swallowed by the great trunks of trees, seeped into the soil, only to find life again and consumed by the same people who would give the world the greatness of blues and honkytonk.

and love is only alive and well if it is expressed in a way the beloved understands and appreciates.

i tried to make it flourish, i really did, by asking for the many little and myriad forms with which i could store it in, in my humble understanding. forms in which i could store away in my memory--i wasn't even asking for anything to be stored in my fucking jewelry box--to be pulled out and take a whiff at, when needed.

i guess--well, i know now--that he couldn't give those things because he hid them so well, and for so long, he's forgotten where he put them.