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Reminisce.
Streaks of gold shot over the silhouettes of the buildings across the street and streamed into our room.
The first thing I remember registering is how the sunlight fell on your face, making your slightly tan, dewy skin glitter with delicate radiance. The mere sight of your sleepy figure filled me with an inexplicable warmth, that spilled over as a smile unfurled across my face, and my cheeks burned with adoration.
Ethereal. Even after spending two years inseparable from you, the simple beauty in your features; the way your eyelashes swept against your cheeks under your closed doe eyes, the way your flushed lips formed a little pout as you sank deeper into the tangle of pillows and sheets, never failed to captivate me.
Because no matter how long I spent by your side, no matter how many mornings I woke to see the same face, I still could not fathom the fact that you belonged to me.
I remember thinking that I could stare at you forever.
Your hair was a mess, and your limbs were contorted as you stretched across our bed. But I swear, to me, you looked angelic.
All I wanted was to reach out and lace my fingers through your tousled hair, but you looked so peaceful, and I didn’t want to wake you just yet.
So, I just slowly slipped back under the covers and cautiously inched closer to you, careful not to rouse you from your slumber.
Sometimes, I liked to lie beside you and only guess what went on in your head. I would wonder what you were dreaming about, and I could only imagine the most fantastical things, for your eyes always held so much wonder.
Your body emitted a sort of somnolent tenderness and I sought your embrace even more.
I wanted to cradle you in my arms and rest your head on my chest.
To trace little shapes onto the thin fabric that rested on your back with the tips of my fingers.
Obliviously, I had moved in too close and had snaked my arms around your waist and realized only when you shifted uncomfortably, and the hint of a frown was forming on your once tranquil features.
Gasping slightly, I attempted to slip away, and I hoped I had not disrupted your sleep too much. But before I had crept out of our bed, I felt myself being yanked back into suffocating arms.
I remember the feeling of your entire weight on me as you tossed around lazily threw your heavy leg over me, trapping me in your bone crushing embrace. I felt the corners of your lips twist up as you grinned into the exposed skin of my shoulder.
“Koo…” I called to no response.
You naively snickered, like a child prone to mischief, but soon hid your grin in hopes of pursuing your jest undiscovered.
I, however, was unimpressed by your scheme. And so, out of desperation (and lack of air), I mustered all the strength in my fatigued arms and brought them up right to above your hips, and mercilessly tickled your sides.
Your high-pitched giggles echoed through the room. Our once serene house bubbled with vibrance as the sound of your childlike laughter resonated through it.
And I remember that that morning I wished - if it could be possible - that you could laugh like this always, and I wished we could stay like that forever.
But life happened. Like it always does.
The curtains are no longer drawn back, I can’t remember the last time the light of day gushed into the room.
Your large eyes, that once shimmered with innocence, don’t possess the sparkle they once did. At first, I blamed time, for taking a toll on you. Later, I began to fear that, maybe, time had not aged our love the way I had hoped.
You haven’t held me in months. Your lips are a distant memory. Sometimes, I fear I might forget the feeling of your hands enclasped in mine. Or the warm vanilla fragrance your clothes always had.
I can only dream of being enveloped in your embrace, because I am too afraid to ask. Our love is so fragile; I endlessly fear it might break, should I make one wrong move.
And the rooms are quiet. I wonder if I can call it our home any longer – today, you hardly return.
For a home is created by the bonds within its walls. And as the seeds of a broken heart were gradually sown into the fabric of our daily lives, that home relapsed into a mere house. Just a building.
It no longer bustles with life, for it has not heard your laughter in an eternity.
And neither have I.
However, you and I both live in the knowledge that we invited the asphyxiating desolation and asked it to stay.
In the name of comfort.
In the name of fortitude.
Yet the forbidding ice between us hangs like a stigma. I can’t tell if I have failed to recall the sound of your voice or if you have forgotten it yourself.
Even so, for some reason, I still cling to the fragments of our life that threaten to fall apart. The shards, like remnants of a piece of poetry.
“READ ME” They scream, enticing, like a ‘forbidden’ fruit, beguiling me to ruminate on our tethered past. To break away from the illusion of contentedness we follow day, after day.
But how can one read a story with no words?
Where is the story; our story of the utopia we shared?
The pieces to a puzzle that I had almost finished, have now faded to an empty white, and I can no longer stand back and comprehend the bigger picture.
How can one perceive what a painting expresses when it has no image?
When I recall the sweetest, saccharine memories made with you, the sour taste of reality sticks to the roof of my pallet. With a hint of betrayal, maybe.
The memory of your arms encircling my figure invokes no warmth in me. In fact, I become more aware of the cold of my room, the chill of solitariness.
And I cannot elicit our rose-tinted souvenirs of the past without realizing; that time had no color.
Yet I still cling to you, and to the love I fear doesn’t exist. Maybe we’re both afraid of loneliness; for the words to end us sit on my tongue like an un-pulled trigger.
When will we come to realize that maybe we’ve just spent so long together that we’ve forgotten how life was before?
Maybe the colorless void that clouds my mind, (all while leaving it barren and soundless), it is but a pristine, new canvas, for new color. For a new beginning. For new memories. Maybe.
Or maybe it is just a soundless void. A giant, gaping puncture in my heart, moulded and curved to fit only your silhouette. And like a unique keyhole, none other than you can sate my misery.
Still, I like to reminisce.