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.
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