It was every Thursday of the week, back in college, my ex and I would always wait for each other at the LRT Sta. Mesa platform at 630AM.

It was because the SOGO right beside the LRT had a promo where you would pay only 200 (or 180 ata) for a 12 hour stay.

We'd take off our uniforms and exchange it for casual wear just so we could get in. We were never the nervous youngsters with shaking legs nervously talking to the front desk officer. Instead, we acted like adults, like confident consenting adults engaging in casual sex but in fact we were lovers.

And as lovers would, we'd fuck each other less than but almost a dozen times in the span of 12 hours.

From devoting a round solely for oral sex, or having one devoted for anal, and another one for sensual, but really it's the pillowtalk that makes me want to fuck her like my personal slut for another extra round. Because that's what she was to me, a slut, my slut, and I was hers.

The only time we weren't fucking was because of lunch. Bonchon was the hit back then.

After consuming lunch, we then proceed to consume one another, both sexually and everythingly (that's not a word, I know, but it felt like the perfect combination of letters to describe how I truly felt at that moment)

We'd go home knees weak, eyes relaxed, but still looking forward to the next 12 hours after another 7 days. It was a seemingly unbreakable cycle. Until it wasn't.

Because as lovers often do, they part ways.

That's what we did.

It's been almost a decade now and I'm pretty sure I still know what you look like. And I'm pretty sure that was you looking at me from afar at the Starbucks where we brought your kid.

Thank you, for making memories with me. Those were the best days of my college life. But we're both better off now.

And as a former lover should, I wish you the best in life, Doc.

Love, Atty.