This is what I once wished for with you.
The night hums with life at Gelora Bung Karno Stadium. A thousand footsteps echo on the pavement, a rhythmic chorus of souls chasing time, chasing fitness, chasing something unseen. The air is cool, kissed by the lingering warmth of the day, but there’s a crispness now—a quiet promise that the city, despite its constant motion, knows how to slow down too.
I sit on the sidewalk, watching.
My cousin runs somewhere on the track, her footsteps blending into the steady chorus of others. I could have joined her, but I choose to stay here, letting the night unfold before me. And for a while, I let myself enjoy it—the simple joy of observing, of breathing, of just being.
Joggers pass by in steady strides, their breaths measured, their minds perhaps lost in the music from their headphones. Friends laugh as they walk together, sharing stories too mundane yet too precious to forget. A child clutches his father’s hand, struggling to keep pace, his tiny feet stumbling against the path but never once letting go.
And then, there are the couples.
Some walk side by side, fingers intertwined, as if afraid of losing each other to the night. Others mirror what could have been us—one sitting, resting, watching, while the other moves ahead, running but always circling back. I watch them, fascinated and envious all at once.
This.
This is what I once wished for with you.
A peaceful evening. A walk beneath the floodlights, feeling the city slow down around us. I imagined us here, just like the couples I see now—perhaps walking together, perhaps you running ahead while I sat and waited, knowing you would always come back. I imagined reaching out my hand when you returned, imagined the way your tired smile would soften when our fingers touched.
But none of that ever happened.
You never gave me the chance.
And now, ironically, I find myself scanning the crowd—not for the lovers, not for the friends, but for you.
I don’t know what I hope to find. Would I feel relief if you weren’t here? Would I feel devastation if you were, hand in hand with someone new? I tell myself I wouldn’t want to see you, that I have long accepted the past and the way it unraveled. But my eyes betray me. They search for you instinctively, drawn to the possibility of a familiar face in an unfamiliar crowd.
And yet, you are nowhere to be found.
As expected.
I exhale, long and slow, letting the cool night air fill my lungs. Seven months. Seven months since our story ended, yet the bitterness still lingers, a ghost that refuses to be exorcised. I let it sit there for a moment, let it remind me of what was lost, of what never truly was. And then, I swallow it whole.
I let it settle deep within me, not as a wound, but as a truth. A truth I no longer fight. A truth I no longer deny.
The reality is bitter, but I accept it.
The night carries on. The city moves forward.
And so must I.
