My sunset

My heart feels full, and I can only put into words what I know I may one day forget.

I often think about the future when I may lose my sight, my hearing, even my memory—when I may no longer be able to recognize who I am today. But I write this now so that when that time comes, something of this moment will remain.

Maybe I will lose my sight, but I hope someone will read this to me so I can still hear it.

Maybe I will lose my hearing, but I hope my eyes can still revisit these words.

Maybe I will lose my memory, but I hope this writing can remind me that I once lived something real, something meaningful.

Our anniversary trip was one of the quietest, most peaceful, and most private moments of my entire life. Despite how busy I am, I made a choice to truly show up—to be present, to spend time, to hold onto moments I know will never come back again. Time keeps moving, people grow older, and so do I.

Right now, I feel like I am living the life I wanted. I am living the love I desired. Of course, that includes the reality of fights, pain, misunderstandings, and everything we have thrown at each other in moments of hurt. But even with all of that, I still choose to focus on what is good. I still choose to see what is worth holding onto.

We were in Dipolog City on the last day of our anniversary trip. The sunset was there—calm, quiet, and beautiful. I remember waiting for 6 PM for our dinner date, but what stayed with me more was that sunset turning into a moment of tension. A small misunderstanding almost ruined the dinner she had carefully prepared after weeks of effort.

It may have been petty, yes. I know that. But in that moment, I felt something intense inside me. I had been waiting for that sunset for days, and yet I didn’t even have a single photo with it. It sounds simple, even trivial—but it was the first time in a long while that I felt that kind of peace watching the sky slowly change.

And then, right there in front of that sunset, we argued on a bench.

I stayed quiet. I wanted to speak back, to defend what I felt, but I chose not to. Because I didn’t want to lose the moment entirely. I didn’t want the argument to erase everything we had prepared for that night. I didn’t want weeks of effort to turn into nothing because of a passing emotion.

The only words I clearly remember from her were: “I’m sorry. I will bring you and be with you in all sunsets.”

She is not naturally expressive or overly sentimental, but I believe those words came from somewhere real inside her—because she knew I was deeply hurt in that moment.

I struggle sometimes to express everything I feel. Maybe I carry too many emotions in this relationship, emotions so strong that I fear they might slip away if I don’t hold on tightly enough.

But the truth is, my heart is full. My emotions are real. And I am certain that what I felt in that moment is something I may never feel again in the same way—not in many years, not with many people, maybe only here, only with her.

So I chose silence. I chose to just sit there and watch the sunset until it disappeared.

Because I know nothing in life is certain—not how long I will live, not how long I will stay, and not how long I will get to feel this kind of love again.

And in that uncertainty, I still choose to stay present.