-The glasses, The sight-
The morning, is when he lingers. It’s before the world wants anything from him. And, that’s when he’s most beautiful. It’s true not many saw him like that. But I can’t say I was the only one. Even though we each had our own beginnings, mornings like this, were shared between us all.
He used to tell people that it was like the world was strung with a dull piece of charcoal. That was before me. Now that he sees things my way, everything makes a little more sense. This is me. If I’m in for anything, it’s to show him the world. Is that so bad?
-The phone, The hearing-
The quiet morning like the many before it, calm, comfortable. But comfort can be terribly blinding. The difference with this particular morning, is in a call.
He smiles. For who? I can’t see anymore. He tells me he wants to be a raindrop. He doesn’t mind falling, as long as he’s not alone. And raindrops, are never alone. He always has a new story to tell me. Today, it’s about being a raindrop. I wish I could have been there, because stories aren’t always enough. And words, can only go so far. This is me. Sometimes I wonder if he’s still talking to me, or I’m just eavesdropping. It used to be everyday, sometimes for hours, sometimes for minutes. Healthy relationships are based on communication. But his words, however sweet and real, sound so distant. Now, they flow past me effortlessly, as if they were meant for someone else.
-The umbrella, The touch-
He must know what he does to me. His every touch, every time he holds my hand, every time he holds me close. This is me. If you hold my hand, I’ll be yours forever. A simple promise. That’s all I can offer. Is it enough? It may be too late for me, it may be too late.
-The scarf, The smell-
Anyone can look from a distance. A stranger can look from a distance. What’s so special about that? But to know his scent, means something else. It means, we’ve been close, closer than anyone else. I dare say I’m lucky. But when he doesn’t want me, or he’s away, and it’s just his scent, with me. I can only feel, forgotten. This is me, left behind. Am I the stranger now?
-The cup, The taste-
There are those nights, where its just the two of us. And he softly hides in his own thoughts, and only one thing seems to melt the cold silence. A kiss. This is me. Ask me what the perfect day tastes like? And I’ll say, His lips. He was my first kiss, it has to mean something, something sure and true. Because a taste of a pure kiss can’t be sure, it’s the dreadfully romantic idea. But there can be only one. The question is, am I, his only one? I’m afraid the truth will break me. But his kiss is convincing. I’m not his only one.
——————-
He said he wanted to be a raindrop, but today it finally broke us. He had found his own default, his own default form. Today, he was a raindrop.
——————-
I am the glasses, the phone, the umbrella, the scarf, the cup.
.jpg)
