Magician

“Do you still have the thing I gave you?”

“No. I think I already lost it.”

What do we call someone who does not value sentimental things given to them? Are they stupid? Dumb? Dull? Asshole? Or do they just don’t care at all?

Why do we give something to someone? Is that something just a something? Or is that someone just a someone? Of course not.

Just like magic, our love sprouted without logical and elaborative reasons. It was unexplainable how time and place became factors of our growing love. We even connected though we were aware our cables are incompatible. It was lovely how everything just popped out of nothing like magic. Or maybe I just thought it was lovely.

Because of the tricks of your love, we were able to share memories together. Not just memories but things too. I once thought we were rays with the same endpoint but have different strays. At least we had a common endpoint. We denied we are parallel lines. And because you picture a different horizon from mine, I gave you a book to repaint your version of horizon, or maybe just make it more vividly colored. But you did not even attempt to sneak a glance at my palette.

So instead, I gave you a hundred poems and an essay, hoping my seasoned words would change the style of your desired dish, or maybe just the plating of it. And even you did not took the countless chances to taste it out of your undeniable gluttony.

Now just like magic again, our love died without explanations. We may had the time but we were in the wrong season. Our love may have grown in the same place but a dry one. I guess I may be the one who killed it because of the too much sunlight I brought. I just wanted us to shine together. And you were there, for once never brave enough to sprinkle water to it.

It was fine after all. I was fine after all. What was not fine is that how can you not even keep a leaf from an endangered dead plant?

The things I gave you were already given. Whether or not you use it, you should at least just keep it. But with what you have done, I guess I’ll just call you a magician.

Just like how you started and ended things, you lost the books and the poems I gave you without a proper explanation. I was blinded by the magic you have inside. You have this extraordinary expertise of making a fool out of someone with your secret recipe of magic potion.

Well, I have no regrets. Because how can I uncover such kind of magic trick if I did not experience it from the magician himself?