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I thought seven years was nothing. I’ve been living five times longer than that, so I thought it was nothing. Practically, it’s only a fifth of my whole life; a mere fragment, just a phase, I would say, so I thought it was nothing.

And nothing it was, I kept saying; to myself, to my friends, to colleagues, to a random person on the internet, and finally to myself, again, because I need to believe that it was nothing. That it was a mere fragment, just a phase.

I wish we could end it the way we started it, like two consenting adults. That’s what I always say to people when I need to tell them about us; or whatever is left of us. I kept saying that I like the way we ended it just like how we started it, like two consenting adults.

Though we did end it the way we started, I was lying when I said it was like two consenting adults. The way we ended it just exactly how we started it: unofficially, one-sidedly.

I asked you once, “When is our anniversary?” You answered, and I thank you for that, “I don’t think we have an anniversary date.” Because we really don’t have. Like love, it happened suddenly. One day, I was single, and the next day, I’m your man.

I did ask you several times in that span of seven years. I asked you to let me be your man, officially. And ‘no’ is your answer every single time, for different reasons. I didn’t push you further, and even now, I don’t regret not pushing you further.

Things could be different if I pushed you further, I guess. Things could happen all the same. Things could be indifferent whether we walked through it differently or not. But funnily, I don’t regret it at all.

What I regret is how we ended it the same way. Without an anniversary date, without something to remember, without a reason that I can use to resent the day, without any sad song I can associate with that day. It just happened, like love, like how we started it. One day I am your man, and the next day I am just the guy you used to date.

What I regret is not telling you how much I love you. I had many chances, I know. Not taking them up is what I regret. I should acknowledge how you made it easier for me by saying ‘I love you’ first, so I could just reply with ‘I love you too’. And even with that chances you gave, I failed myself to do so. And that’s what I regret.

Things could have happened just the same even if I did let you know how much I love you; I know. But have you ever wondered what could be different if I did things differently?

What would happen if I put more effort into not letting you think that I took you for granted? It is funny to think that that seven years was nothing to me, but at the same time, that seven years was the world for me. I suppose that that seven years is never nothing to me. No matter how much I want it to be nothing.

I am glad that that seven years happened, that you happened. I am glad that you let us be a part of each others’ lives for those seven years. And I thought seven years was nothing.