We’re doing this right

“Give us a try, just once more, only this time, let’s not worry about the future, about how we’re each other’s unfit piece of puzzle, about how we won’t last, about how far we’ll have to fly just to kiss each other before bed, about how you don’t want any kid and I want three, about every other thing that may punch another hole into each of our heart.

Let’s pretend that what we do is right, that being together is right, that diving deep into the depth of the ocean with minimum oxygen is not foolish, let’s enjoy the view while breathing isn’t yet felt hard. Let’s not think for a while.”

I imagined him saying this. But his mouth was closed then; It was only his eyes that lingered at mine. We were both quiet instead. Trying to make up for the lack of words with a few half-hearted smiles, fingering each other’s hair, unsure of what else to do because talking would make things obvious – obviously apparent that we’re doing things wrong.m

My heart struggled to keep still, bouncing even harder at the thought that I should keep my cool. My mind was already undressing the bleak future of this relationship – is relationship the right word?

We kept quiet, finally diverting our eyes somewhere that is not each other. We both looked up. Looked at the white ceiling that seemed to just freshly been painted; hands on each other.

“Won’t you just come with me?” he finally talked.

“Won’t you just stay here?” I said.

The quiet resumed.

I can’t remember when did talking become so uncomfortable, so unnatural. Talking was after all that made us, us.

I rehearse many scenarios in my head all the time, about anything, about anyone, even about the homeless guy near my train station whom I imagined became a millionaire after being found that he’s the only heir to a deceased, billionaire parents he ran away from.

But the scenario I was in for a painful minutes was never in my imagination. I struggled with this unrehearsed scenes, and unfamiliar words of desperation turned into a void question.

We both knew the answer to each other’s question: no.

We both wished that one of us would at least have the courage to instead say maybe.

I felt a little pressure inside the palm of my hand; a signal to look back at him. He was already staring with that damn sparkly brown eyes I always longed to stare at during the time he was away.

“What time is your flight?” I asked disregarding the first questions we threw.

“I can change it.” He answered.

“What’s a day can do to this?” I said coldly.

“Then why did you come here today?” He asked emotionlessly.

My hand was let go.

We then both looked down to the brightly patterned tile, afraid of being the first to let go, to let go of tears already building up at the corners of each of our eyes, to let go of more than just each other’s hand.

The quiet lingered.

“You should go now. It’s almost 9, and the traffic would be worse than when I picked you up yesterday.” I finally said, breaking this round of silence.

“Can’t you come with me?” he instead asked.

“Can’t you stay with me?” I answered.

We both smiled while slowly getting up and fixed each other’s wrinkled clothes from sitting too long on a floor of the front of an already closed bookstore.


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