We reunited for the ninth time at Starbucks, you with your hope and me with my wariness. You gave me medicine that I never finished and talked about your last three months. But you never stopped smiling, you couldn't take your eyes off me. You almost didn't want to let go when we hugged.
One hour later I had to go back to work, but you waited on that high table faithfully. You wanted to send me home, without a care for your exhaustion or lack of money for transport back to Johor. Walking to Paya Lebar was when you asked so shyly, Can I hold your hand?
You said your heart started beating ten times faster; mine did too, but I didn't admit it.
It was on the train where that happiness turned into regret. You never wanted to leave, you said, you were miserable the whole time. You talked about your best friend, angry at the way he almost had me in Marsiling. How he persuaded you to block me everywhere, convinced you that we didn't belong together.
We stood by the doors with your hands on either sides of me; you told me about the loneliness and your coping mechanisms that just made things worse. Then you did something that I had done a million times in front of you, but had never seen you do: you started crying.
I had my arms around your neck, an old habit, and I wish you can still feel my touch like I do yours. We were always exact opposites, with your poor and my strong memory. I am the one who holds on to everything, from scenes in my head to textures beneath my arms.
Even when I want to let go.
Next stop Kembangan, you used to say when we just met, whenever you complimented me and I pretended not to care. I was always the insecure one that you had to lift; the crybaby that you had to console. But more than four years later that strength of yours turned into tears, and it was my turn to wipe them from your face.
One hour later I had to go back to work, but you waited on that high table faithfully. You wanted to send me home, without a care for your exhaustion or lack of money for transport back to Johor. Walking to Paya Lebar was when you asked so shyly, Can I hold your hand?
You said your heart started beating ten times faster; mine did too, but I didn't admit it.
It was on the train where that happiness turned into regret. You never wanted to leave, you said, you were miserable the whole time. You talked about your best friend, angry at the way he almost had me in Marsiling. How he persuaded you to block me everywhere, convinced you that we didn't belong together.
We stood by the doors with your hands on either sides of me; you told me about the loneliness and your coping mechanisms that just made things worse. Then you did something that I had done a million times in front of you, but had never seen you do: you started crying.
I had my arms around your neck, an old habit, and I wish you can still feel my touch like I do yours. We were always exact opposites, with your poor and my strong memory. I am the one who holds on to everything, from scenes in my head to textures beneath my arms.
Even when I want to let go.
Next stop Kembangan, you used to say when we just met, whenever you complimented me and I pretended not to care. I was always the insecure one that you had to lift; the crybaby that you had to console. But more than four years later that strength of yours turned into tears, and it was my turn to wipe them from your face.
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