Everything I never had
He is my king. He is the very reason I have never looked for a prince charming because he alone can protect me. He can even protect me from a villain disguised as my prince charming. He is so protective, to the point that he never lets me go beyond our castle because he says I might be caught and imprisoned by his rivals.
He is my superhero. He has Superman’s eye beams which can nearly kill anyone who hurts me, and Hulk’s body which can threaten any guy who will touch me. He seems to have been bitten by a radioactive spider when he was still a kid because at a snap of a finger, he appears when something awful happens to me. He is the ideal guy, nearly the Batman type, who, apart from being buff and tough, is a teetotaler and a total father figure.
He is my personal doctor. He gives me everything he can provide to heal basically everything—whether a wound (the first-aid kit in our cabinet), or an illness (a tablet and a kiss on the forehead). When it comes to a broken heart, he demands the name of the guy and, in a second, goes out in rage to find the felon.
He is a father, almost mine, but not ever. He is everything I never had, everything I wish I had. He was my wishful thinking when I was a kid, a mathematical figure I can never fully understand, a figure that remains the unsolved x, the missing ingredient in the recipe of my life, the fault that breaks me all at once.
I am no princess to a king. The once wishful thinking is now a nightmare. I wish I never saw him virtually. He is now with his kids, with no me. He seems overjoyed, with no me. I see his blissful eyes in pictures with his wife and kids, with no me.
It hurts to see him with his family. It kills me to see him happy.
Pamela Andrea S. Ramirez, 18, is a student in Quezon City.
