I knew long before it had come to this point that there will never be an us.

I grew up with you, I played basketball with you, I went to school with you and somewhere in between I fell in love with you.

Silly, I know. You may even say that it’s just me confusing it for our tight bond and how our friendship is closer than what brothers would have. However much I would like to think so, I know myself and I know my feelings. And this, this is not mere platonic brotherly love, it’s something more.

If it wasn’t, then why does it feel like my world is set on fire with just the thought of your existence? Why is it that my skin prickles every time you are within range? Why is it that just by hearing your voice, my knees turn gelid and unable?

And why does my heart feel like it is being shattered to pieces a million times over whenever I see you with a girl in your embrace?

Why does it hurt so much if this isn’t love?

We’ve grown apart since we started middle school. You’ve gone to spend more time in bettering yourself to achieve your dream to be a basketball player. While I stay in the shadows and let my music enclave me, you run around in your sneakers to wow university coaches and woo your way under skirts.

You never forgot about me though, waving at me whenever we cross paths in the hallways of our school or whenever you see me around our neighborhood. I’m never exactly sure if I should be happy about that though. For one, it means you still value our friendship somehow, no matter how little in comparison to others. At the same time, you are giving me false hope that I am as important to you as I would like to be. You also seem to have not noticed my lack of enthusiasm for your stories of how you’ve been going around dating girls from different classes. We rarely talk nowadays and that’s all you say, I am slightly getting irritated but I remind myself each and every time that time spent with you is precious. I will take what I can get, even if it means having to listen to your tales from under the blanket.

I wish we could go back to that time when the only person you talked to and shared your dreams with was me. Call me selfish but can you blame me if all I ever really want in the world is for you to see me and only me?

I can vividly remember when you held my hand and told me: “When we grow up, I will be the best basketball player on earth and you will be the best pianist on earth and together we will conquer the world.”

I was eight and you were nine, yet somehow I knew who I wanted to be with for the rest of my life.

But dreams are as easily shattered as they are built.

One day we start to drift apart and the only thing tying us together is our close physical proximity to each other. Only that bus stop we both use is the only place where we can actually talk and catch up. As well as that bus ride you so rarely catch with me because you are either out with your teammates or with your latest girlfriend. I will never admit this to you but I cherish those times a lot; those times when I can see and hear you laugh and in full knowledge that I am the reason behind it, those times when you look at me and I feel so alive just by the mere fact that I have your attention. I hate how those times have to end and how we have to part at the bend of the road.

I wish the time would stretch and that the road will grow longer. I don’t mind getting tired as long as I get to walk home beside you, get to talk to you and hear your voice that’s commanding no one else’s but my attention.

But alas, we have to part and the day after we have to pretend we don't know each other and that we are just mere schoolmates.

<>

I pull my earphones out of my backpack as I walk to the bus stop. It’s a routine, really; to plug my earphones on and unplug from the noise that the world never ceases to create. One of those noises however, sounds very much like you and it piques my interest so much that I ended up forgetting what I was supposed to do. I walk closer to the bus stop and then I hear the shouting get louder and louder and then I hear an unmistakable slap of hand against cheek. Then there was silence.

A girl emerges from the shed and it’s her, the girl you’ve been with for the past four months, the longest out of all the relationships you’ve had. She doesn’t even bother turning to look around and see how scandalized you have been, she just walks off and meets another boy from a different school on the other side of the road.

My blood is boiling and, if I was in the position to do so, I would run after her and do the same she has done to you. But, there are more pressing matters at the moment and you are always my first priority. So I walk closer to the shed where I find you dumbstruck and seated on the metal chairs.

You look up when you see my shadow on the floor, I will never forget that look on your face no matter how hard I want to erase it from my memory. I have never seen you so shattered and broken that I fear for my own strength. I don’t think I can look at you while you’re in that state but I have to, for you and for myself.

I walk closer to where you are and even if my brain is telling me no, I still cupped your cheeks. Just like you did to me when we were kids. I saw how you were trying your best not to cry, not to show any sign of defeat, but somehow my touch caused a dam to break and next thing I know you’re grabbing my waist and crying on my stomach.

“I just got my heart broken.” You murmured against the wet patch you created on the front of my school uniform. I’ve never seen you like this and I don’t think I want to see you this way ever again. I want to say I heard it all clearly and saw how she walked away to another man’s arms. But, I don’t know if it’s safe to talk about it so soon, so I just allowed you to cry on my stomach, swallowing my own tears and fighting against my will.

When I hear the bus stop in front of us, I will myself to be the stronger one and with a throaty voice I told you, for the first time in so long: “Let’s go home, Yifan.”

After that incident I thought that you had learned from your lesson but two weeks after your breakup, you are walking around with a new girl showcased under your arm. I am not sure if this is because you want to show off to your ex-girlfriend, to show her that you’re fine and doing well without her or if this girl really caught your attention. Whatever the reason is, I am not happy about it. I know what these girls see in you: your fame and your looks. Quite superficial, if you ask me, but you never do ask me. You always thought that these girls were there for you because they say they love you, the real you; the one who loves using his toy plushies as puppets, giving them weird voices that don’t match their physical attribute. Or, the one who actually likes spreading himself out in the park