On waking up one morning on a bed that is not hers beside a boy who neither is
Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, his profile in silhouette, dimly illuminated. His eyelashes fluttered in REM sleep, lost in dreams, oblivious. The curve of his cheeks, the valley between his lips, mere topographies in the dark.
She dared not wish for the boy, nor for a night, but merely a kiss. There was many a star that night; he even traced constellations in her eyes. She is now his, and he, hers; and between their palms, they hold the stars.
“And it came to me then. That we were wonderful traveling companions but in the end no more than lonely lumps of metal in their own separate orbits. From far off they look like beautiful shooting stars, but in reality they’re nothing more than prisons, where each of us is locked up alone, going nowhere. When the orbits of these two satellites of ours happened to cross paths, we could be together. Maybe even open our hearts to each other. But that was only for the briefest moment. In the next instant we’d be in absolute solitude. Until we burned up and became nothing.” ― Haruki Murakami, Sputnik Sweetheart
That morning, as the waves battered and jolted us awake; our bodies cutting each swell, each lurch; letting the water surge on either side of us creating little whirlpools. I drift away from you, momentarily carried by the current. I felt your hand, pruny from the cold northern air, encircle my waist, a slight tug. Pull, then release.
I still remember the sound of our laughter, the corner of your eyes crinkling, that smile, YOUR smile. More addictive than breakfast coffee.
i wanted to tell you how crappy my day had been, my week really; how utterly busy i am that i’ve got every damn hour planned out till the weekend, even the next two weeks; how my earliest respite would be the moment i see you again, IF you’ll still be there when i arrive. I wanted to tell you what happened to me last monday, or how my yesterday went, or my cancelled plans for today. I wanted to tell you i think i got a free hour tomorrow…and i want to see you…and talk some, over coffee.
While waiting for food to arrive, we stare blankly at different directions, silent. Not the comfortable silence brought by familiarity…but the lull of not knowing what to say, of opting not to talk, opting not to share what runs rampant on one’s mind. This is the moment I realized this will never work out.
It’s remarkable how silly the smile that blossoms from her lips is, whenever he says it. She still can’t believe her eyes, nor her ears. It’s like the dream she had a long time ago, where she wanted to kick herself for waking up…And yet, this, THIS makes her glad she did.