Dec 2014
1:35 AM.** I sit by the window and listen to the raindrops sounding like the ring of calls I make to you around the same time, each day to ask you about how your day was. You subtly mention about the times when you thought about me and how it makes you smile: you picture me laughing with the children you befriended on the subway, the wind flowing through my hair, and my eyes getting narrowed as I stare at the sun.
1:36 AM. The patter of the raindrops against the fragile glass picks up speed and I lose touch of the tune I created in my mind with the rhythm as I get distracted. I recount the days when we skip topics like children skip ropes, trying to oblige all days’ craving for each other in three words, lost breathes and skipped heartbeats, when we finally meet.
1:37 AM. I try to pull close the windows to keep the shrivelled leaves that were blown off trees by the rising storm away. In the process, I chip off my nail but my fingers are too numb with cold to hurt. I can still feel your fingers run down my nape, circle on my back and tap on my waist while all I do is quiver, wiggle my toes and complain about how cold your hands are.
1:38 AM. The sky is getting clear but there still is haze and unsettled mist in the air that surrounds me. Some nights, you pull your blanket over our heads and try to encapsulate our world into the warmth beneath it. You have convinced me that we are storms trapped inside lifeless bodies as we lie very still but our breaths chase our heartbeats.
1:36 AM. The patter of the raindrops against the fragile glass picks up speed and I lose touch of the tune I created in my mind with the rhythm as I get distracted. I recount the days when we skip topics like children skip ropes, trying to oblige all days’ craving for each other in three words, lost breathes and skipped heartbeats, when we finally meet.
1:37 AM. I try to pull close the windows to keep the shrivelled leaves that were blown off trees by the rising storm away. In the process, I chip off my nail but my fingers are too numb with cold to hurt. I can still feel your fingers run down my nape, circle on my back and tap on my waist while all I do is quiver, wiggle my toes and complain about how cold your hands are.
1:38 AM. The sky is getting clear but there still is haze and unsettled mist in the air that surrounds me. Some nights, you pull your blanket over our heads and try to encapsulate our world into the warmth beneath it. You have convinced me that we are storms trapped inside lifeless bodies as we lie very still but our breaths chase our heartbeats.
