Song of dedication:
If there was anything I despised in this pretty little world I was disillusioned with, it was you. 14 year old me, 15 year old me, 16 year old me, I was constantly seething with anger whenever we stood in the same path. You didn’t act upon me, but you sure did torture my friends. I hated you not for doing wrong to me, but to the people I cared for.
I was a wolf eyeing you from the bushes. I was ready to pounce, but never came close.
And God, I have never been so thankful for not having you as a feast.
Early this year when you came to me for comfort, I made sure I wore an extra layer of fur, just so you couldn’t backstab me. I glued the cloth onto myself, just so you couldn’t scrape my skin for your own use. I let you come near, but not too close, because I listened to the other wolves.
But the forest started to get eerily dark and you were helplessly suffocating, and I was in the trees with you, but you didn’t push me down just to pull yourself up. Instead, you took responsibility of your own doings and continued climbing up, away from the wolves howling beneath us. You continued climbing up, suffering all on your own, but you hadn’t forgotten about me.
At that point I knew I could trust you.
I realised you were merely an earthling in pain, trying to be strong but haunted by self-conflicts, lullabied by complaints in your household, murmured by the rumors in school, framed by people who barely know a thing about you; you are persistently being preyed by wolves without teeth.
At that point I let myself trust you.
Of course I was prepared to bury you alive if you broke that trust. But at that time of realisation I couldn’t care less if you betrayed me because I knew I had to protect you from those wolves without teeth.
I surrendered myself to a precarious friendship because I trusted you, and I trusted you to not break that trust.
From time to time I reminiscence the days we skipped school together, camped in the freezing cinema for 4 hours, ate at Geláre in our uniform, chilled at my house cause you didn’t want to go home and I didn’t want to feel lonely, sat at the sickbay and rolled our eyes whenever Ust Sups interrogated us, exchanged secret signals when the wolves haven’t known about our peace treaty, dissed them for biting one of us…
The things we did are alike the morning mist in a forest; a blinding, refreshing distraction – a form of happiness – that help us escape the wolves breathing heavily at our feet, the wolves tearing into us without teeth.
I’ve always practised saying thanks
For making you my leaves and I your stem.
But I forgot to apologise,
About the wolves without teeth,
That I was once one of them.