Christmas Morning

He's already at the door when I emerged the stairwell. It was late morning but the corridor was dark and he smiled. But I could tell he was anxious.

The maid hadn't left yet. He told me this in a whispered voice, "I don't really care." I smile. I was happy to see him. His shirt was missing a button and yet he was looking like he always did, clean. I, on the other hand, always feel scruffy. But I had taken care to dress up well for this morning. He was leading me towards the chair by the window. There was construction going on in the building next door. I pretended to be interested in that.

All the while I was aware of him walking around the room in his slippers. They were hitting the back of his feet and making a noise. He went into the kitchen to admonish the maid. He re-emerged back into the room and asked me if I wanted something to eat. Or drink, maybe, he asks, when I said no. He doesn't drink himself but he liked to watch me drink. I suspected he liked to see my cheeks turn pink when I drink too much.

I wanted to tell him that I felt a little drunk already. But I was afraid that it would sound too corny and so I smiled again to myself. He wanted to know why I am smiling. He came to sit across from me and reached out to cradle my face. I was smiling again. He took a deep breath in. I didn't answer as I was watching his mouth as he spoke. And then I looked at his eyes and his jaw line.

If it was possible to fall in love with moments -- many, different moments - then this would be one such moment. The skies seemed to open up as I watched him. I could be flying. I wanted to reach out and touch him. He stood up and waited a moment. The sun was in my eyes now and I looked up to him and through the gap where the button was missing. I could see his bare stomach. He smiled a very, very small smile. His cheeks were blushing. I was sure mine were pink.

Staying Adrift

There is a subtle shift in her.

She feels the change in the breeze. It toys with the leaves.

It rustles her thoughts.

She sees the difference in the yellow of the Sun.

Streaking the world with an unlikely hue.

It bathes her with a yellow that is more yellow than yellow.

Are we not all salt dolls swimming in a distempered ocean?

If you don't drown, you just only dissolve.

She hears them speak.

And she knows to keep still.

While she waits.

For the next heartbreak.

Wings

When you were born, only I could see the

shy silver wings

that arched and folded behind your back.

As a child you would fly

across living room furniture, and

terrorize mama,

with leaps of faith from dirty kitchen table tops.

We would laugh together.

When we went to pre-school, you

hid you wings behind your backpack,

although nobody noticed but me.

Sitting still was uncomfortable;

your little feathers chafed against the

hard, wooden chair.

I watched you get scolded

for fidgeting.

The first time you fell in love,

you tried to tell me,

but I wouldn't believe you.

You kept your invisible wings to yourself, and

tried to be the person you knew.

When I left,

you couldn't fly for weeks.

You were turning seventeen when

they discovered your voice.

People came from everywhere to read your archives.

You were a woman now. Your

full, white wings shimmered with life

and stretched to heaven,

but only my eyes could see them write

what your voice could not.

Till today,

my shirt carries your tears.

After awhile, you wouldn't write anymore.

"What's the point?" you said, "When

no one can see me fly?"

I said that I could, and bought you ice-cream,

but I knew that it would never be enough.

Like a sad song, I

faded away,

and on an early September morning in the Autumn of 08'.

I disappeared into a blue, cloudless sky.

I do not blame you.

These days, a lingering melody glides across

living room furniture.

I do not know where you have gone.

The birds refuse to tell me.

But I have polished the kitchen table top

and every evening,

I leave the window open.

With much love,

A.

Maybe

He used to lay next to her when he comes backs from swimming practice. He seemed to like that.

Perhaps, she inspired him.

He would annoy her with the same question over and over again, to which she would reply "no" every single time - "Babe, if I die, will you cry?"

One day, she looked over at him and said - "No, period!"

...

Everyday, she would pretend to be annoyed when he asked her his pet question.

She loved the way he stroked her cheek while asking the question.

Everyday she annoyed him by saying "no".

Then, one day she replied, "Maybe."

He never asked the question after that.

I still wait.

Wonder if I said the wrong thing!

Beautiful Disaster

After he is finished, she knows what must be done.

She starts in the kitchen first, cleaning the dishes.

Gently, she picks up each porcelain plate, sullied by so many meals together, washes the dirt away, and neatly places them back on the shelf,

spotless.

The living room is a mess.

Slowly, methodically, she clears away the clutter.

She turns off the light, pulls back the curtains, and takes her time.

On the coffee table, there is a picture of them, in Istanbul. It is drizzling, and she is cold. He is smiling at the camera like a child.

Tenderly, she picks it up, wipes the years of dust off its frame, and puts it back carefully, just as she found it.

In the bedroom, she makes the bed.

Lovingly, she folds the sheets and pulls the blankets over the, until every crease disappears.

Soon, the bed is perfect and new.

You would hardly believe anyone had ever slept in it.

When she is done, she goes to the bathroom,

and washes her hands.

Then, very calmly, she opens the front door and walks out of his life forever.

He is as damned as he seems.

Conversation, Unedited

well, hello.

i didn't expect to see you here.

i thought you liked surprises?

i hate them.

ah. well, tough luck.

i thought you left.

i did.

i meant the country.

i did.

oh. why'd you come back?

why do you care?

humour me.

hmph. i didn't expect to see you here.

i know you hate surprises.

i do.

tough luck.

it didn't work.

pardon?

i came back because it didn't work.

it didn't? really?

yes.

what a shame.

don't say that.

why?

you don't mean it.

true.

one year isn't a very long time.

true.

i used to sit on that old couch remember? the one with the coffee stains across the back. always up in the morning before you were, when the sun was still a distant possibility, and the kitchen smelled clean. i used to sit on that old couch, and dream of so many things. i thought if i were given the chance, i would leave. i would make it work. i would find them all, one by one, and i would take them. they would be mine, my dreams, and i would feed them, and hold them, and keep them warm. keep them safe. we were so young, once, weren't we. so many things. countless roads.

i miss that couch.

i miss it too.

i remember how mad you were when i spilt the coffee.

you were being an idiot.

i know.

you still are.

i know.

what were you thinking! climbing over the couch like that?

i wasn't thinking. wasn't that obvious?

well at least it was old.

it was.

it wouldn't have lasted.

it did, actually, despite the stain.

did it?

i gave it back.

oh.

they're still using it today, i think.

that's wonderful.

don't say that.

why?

you don't mean it.

true.

you didn't have to come back, you know, even if it didn't work. you had a place there, a job.

you know why i left.

yes.

then you know those meant nothing to me.

i know you could have stayed.

yes.

then why come back? why here?

you always were the curious one.

one year isn't a very long time.

i suppose.

some things never change.

do you remember the route we used to take? 6.55 on the first that came and then straight to the heart of the city - we were unstoppable. you always were the curious one. the people watcher. i remember looking out grey windows and watching the horizon give birth to the sun, and you would watch me, sometimes - but usually it was them you paid attention to; the morning shifters, the early birds, the mothers with groceries, the fathers in suits. you watched them like a hawk. no, that isn't quite right... you watched them like a child; always wondering who they were, really. always trying to figure them out. except for that one fellow, remember? we could never place him. always there, always quiet, well-dressed, a sad smile on his face. he never seemed to be going anywhere, never seemed to be following a schedule or a time frame of any sort. we would talk about him and wonder. i remember, along his wrist there was a thin band of pale skin, left untanned, where once there must have been a watch. i remember he would always be looking out the window, like me. but he would be there in the morning, and he would be there when we returned - it was almost as if he was just part of the route. i remember, over time, everything changed in little ways. mother's grew older, fathers changed ties, the driver's traded shifts. only he remained, always, quiet and well-dressed, looking out the window at 6.55 on the first that came and straight through the heart of the city.

he's still there.

is he?

the tan line on his wrist is gone now.

i can't say i'm surprised.

other than that, he hasn't changed.

i wonder what his name was. i think i might actually have been a little sad if he left.

really?

yes. i would have.

i'm surprised.

really?

it thought you put everything behind you, after that day.

i did.

did you?

i tried.

i know.

and you?

sorry?

what about you? how did you... manage.

i didn't

you didn't?

not very well, at least.

i'm sorry to hear that.

don't say that.

why?

you don't mean it.

true.

you were happy. and to be honest, it was enough. for a time.

you're wrong there.

am i?

i was content, not happy.

it's not the same thing?

it's not the same thing.

and how long did it take you to learn that?

one year is a very long time.

is it?

it is. i remember the smells the most. there was something gentle about it, how he smelled like earth after the rain. he used to hold me by the waist and stroke the ends of my hair behind my ears, the same way you did, once. i hated it. i remember the way he made love to me, like there was nothing on earth that mattered more than me and the world was a dream and the sky was a blanket and the simple flesh that kept us apart was nothing, nothing at all. or i think i remember. yes, that was how it was. or perhaps these are just words. i do not know. but i do remember the smells. wet gravel and coffee. the damp wood. the earth, after the rains. you always smelled of your favourite tea.

did i?

chamomile.

ah, yes.

with a hint of peppermint.

sometimes honey.

yes.

you remember.

of course i do.

you never liked tea.

i liked the smell.

you liked hot chocolate.

ah, yes.

with cream.

and marshmallows if possible.

yes.

you remember.

of course i do.

you would make it for me, sometimes, in the morning, and something small for yourself before you went back to that old couch. a sandwich, perhaps.

i would.

hot chocolate. one year is a long time.

very.

i think i know why you're here.

oh?

i know why you came back.

do you?

yes. but you won't admit it will you?

you know i never will.

i do. it's terrible.

don't say that.

you don't mean it.

true. yes, true. i don't.

Don't Leave, Please

I clutched his hand, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Don't leave me. Please."

He weakly reached up and brushed a tear away from my face.

"Don't cry, babe. It'll be over soon. You'll be okay."

"How can you say that?" I choked out.

"I would have given my life up for you."

"Yes, I know. But can you live for me?"

Before The Afterglow

They rented Before Sunrise.

He watches it in bed with her - his girlfriend of three years.

Jesse to Celine, "I know happy couples... but I think they lie to each other."

Movie ends. He waits for his girlfriend to fall asleep.

Grabs his mobile phone and texts someone - "Wish you were here. Goodnight."