“How about you? What song can you relate into?” I ask.

“Right Girl . . . but only in one verse line. I'm not fond of the song.”

“What's the lyrics?”

He sighs.

“I've never been the best with my mouth, I try to act smart but the dumb comes out.”

He turns to the front, looking away. “I once experienced that.”

I stop walking. So is he. I already have the hunch on what he is pertaining to. I swallowed when he faced me.

My insides are trembling. Swear, I want to ask him about it but I do not know how to effortlessly make him open the topic. I am not good at giving comfort but still, I decide to ponder through it.

“Why?” I ask.

The thumps in my chest were so fast as I stared into his eyes streaked with remorse. The corners of my eyes heat up. My lips are on downward curve. My mood turns sour, then bitter after a few seconds. Now it is bland and Rico is the only one who can make me feel like this within a minute.

I force a smile to console myself for no one will do it to me but myself. So it is better to put my hopes down than to expect others to do the deed.

“Freesia, until now, I regret it.” His voice cracks.

I immediately shook my head.

He took my hands. I was not able to stop him for my other hand holds the eco bag containing what we bought in the market

“But I am.” He gently pulls me closer. “I still am.”

A lone tear fell in his eye. “I was in denial for years. I did not have the courage to admit it to myself ... that it was my fault ... it was my fault why you kept a distance from everyone, from everything. ”

“Rico!” my restraint. “Stop it, please?”

Fear starts to consume me. I am scared. I am scared that I might say that I will forgive him easily because from the beginning, what I only yearned for is his apology. I know about this frail part of myself since day one. I am willing to lose just for him. The youth in me, the young adoration I have for him, the buried emotions, are starting to relive.

I forcefully let go of his hold on me. He bowed. It was still held tightly in my hands, but with caution. I can see the veins in his arms slightly protruding.

“I am sorry,” he whispers.

My lips part. The tears started to drip before I was holding them back. He quickly sweeps them away in a gentle caress by his thumb.

But because he looses my hands, I clench them enough and hit him with my weak punches. “Three years. Why are you only saying this now? Why not when I was so mad at you? Why not when the pain you caused was still fresh? ”

My lips tremble as I weep in front of him. He just keeps accepting my blows. His lips are drawn in tightly. His hawkish eyes are reddish from the tears.

"Freesia."

I punch him in the chest one last time before I stop.

"These questions are still endlessly circulating on my mind. But did you know that even before you asked for forgiveness, I already gave it to you?"

He looks at me in shock. I smile while my tears are tracing my cheeks downwards. The last thing I said was not a question. It's a conviction, a firm assurance.

“In those times when I paint canvas no more, my hands find comfort along the threads and needles. Maybe you were right. Maybe art wasn't really my passion, but a mere hobby. It's not your fault.”

“But because of me you can stop. I feel bad for I was the reason someone, so precious as you, stopped what she loved doing. ”

Now that I think about it, I don't think I really harbored much resentment. Though I was just thirteen at that time, my feelings were still valid.

“I was just waiting for a single ‘sorry’ from you. Because, if my innate passion is really the arts, I hope I did not stop even with what you said. Like, I care about your opinion right?” I chuckle to ease the tension.

He pulls out a handkerchief. He gently touched the gild of my eyes, down to the cheek. I notice the redness of his nose and ears.

I took a deep breath before getting the handkerchief I had sewn with his name on it. I try to do wipe his tears on his face. Because he is tall, I tip toe. My chest heaves when I feel his arms circling my waist, until he can hug me enough.

“But what if it was really your passion?” he said beside my ears.

In spite of the negativities this world has to offer, inspiration is abundant. It may be the things that surround us, the dreams in our hearts, or sometimes, other people we just met. As a result, we see a light of positivity. Being inspired makes us do things we never imagined that we can, widens our imagination about countless possibilities, and begins to make us see the world in different perspective.

However, is inspiration enough for us to continue? Is it enough for us to keep going towards the direction that we desire? What if the ones that inspired us were gone? What are we going to do? Where will we end up?

“No. I do not think passion could be defeated so easily by just an utterance of demotivation. Tired but not stopping. Bent down on my knees but won't entirely fall down on the ground. I will but surely won't give up. But then ... here I am. I never did get back on the track. ”

Maybe, I was inspired ... but not passionate enough which led me to downfall. I put my hands on his back and tap his shoulders gently.

“I hope you forgive yourself too, Rico.”