Elsewhere

The last message could have been goodbye.

You had to rush somewhere, perhaps to the grocery store for an errand your mother asked you to do. You abruptly turned off the CPU without logging off from Facebook and Yahoo Messenger. I waited impatiently to the next lines coming from your end. The physical distance must have somehow transcended the virtual world, it was taking longer for your words to arrive.

Hours passed. I was still online. Your words, they no longer came. 

Your last message must have been goodbye. 

I am now living my own life. Building and rebuilding dreams now and then. You no longer are a part of those dreams. You used to be in one of them. I painted that perhaps we'd become closer. Perhaps we'd remain friends who find bliss in our squabbles. Or perhaps, we'd just end up happy the way we are with each other even from afar. Perhaps, I'd be happily living my own life, thinking that there, somewhere, is a friend whom I used to be with, who's happy living his own.

Perhapses are no more certain.

And so, I am once again crossing the old bridge. Trying to get from a happy end to a more certain end. The bridge is a shaky bridge. I don't know how I'd be able to cross it, but I will have to get somewhere. I will have to go elsewhere. 

Because you said goodbye.