I am a woman in the past. In fact, my greatest dream was to become a historian. I always like history since then that it made my heart flutter and how I would always smile when I am tackling about it.
But then you came. You came like a rushing hurricane who made me realize that just like history, I should also make my life as eventful as it was. I remember when I told you that if ever that I would also be a hero, I would like to be Andres Bonifacio. A loyal lover and a revolutionary. Funny thing because you also told me you want to become Gregoria de Jesus, lover of Bonifacio. It made my heart skip a beat and for a moment I forgot that you were a hurricane who intends to destroy every inch of me and and you are not my lover. You are a conqueror who abused his power through me.
Now, I don't want to become a hero simply because I would not be as brave as them to become a revolutionary when it comes to love.
It hurts remembering how you came along with me, how you made me realize about so many things, how I would remember the warmth of your hug and what it felt like to have you. Just like what historians said, there are no what ifs in history because it was all in the past now. You are alrady my whilom.
I realized that I really am not a woman in the past, I am just a girl with a broken heart who cries over you - my past.
-To the man who succeeded to destroy me, my life conqueror and my rushing hurricane
In the tapestry of time, I was a woman of history, with dreams as vast as the chronicles of ages past. My heart danced with joy when I delved into the annals of time, each page an echo of ancient whispers.
But then, you, a tempestuous hurricane, swept into my life with a force that shook the very foundations of my being. In your presence, I discovered that life, too, could be as tumultuous and captivating as the grandest tales of history.
I remember the day I confessed that, if I were to become a hero, I would choose to be Andres Bonifacio—a loyal lover and a revolutionary spirit. To my astonishment, you revealed your desire to embody Gregoria de Jesus, the passionate companion of Bonifacio. In that moment, my heart skipped a beat, and I momentarily forgot that you were not my lover but a conquering force, abusing the power you held over me.
Now, the idea of becoming a hero seems as distant as the farthest star in the night sky. I lack the courage to be a revolutionary when it comes to matters of the heart.
The pain lingers, the memory of your arrival etched in my soul—the way you made me see the world anew, the warmth of your embrace, and the bittersweet taste of having you. Yet, as historians proclaim, there are no "what ifs" in history; it is a tapestry woven in the past, unalterable. You have become my whilom, a chapter closed.
In the end, I have come to understand that I am not a woman of the past but a girl with a shattered heart, weeping over the remnants of what once was—a poignant tale of love and loss.
To you, the man who succeeded in unraveling me, my life's conqueror, and my tempestuous hurricane, these words are my farewell to our shared history.
