"It's The Smoke"

Wednesday, March 19, 2014 Comments Off

If you were here, I'd be nodding my head to your blurry figure from across the room. We would smile to each other. Your eyes would look like you were just about to cry, or just did. It's the smoke, you'd say. You have never been good with having those kind of situation, but funnily enough that kind is supposed to be your crowd. With the overly excess amount of bass thrumming the walls and the overflowing money being spent on small amount liquid on tiny glasses, you once exaggerated about how this place changed you--and I don't know if it's for the better or worse.

But at least you'd be there, smiling at me. We'd come to the place together, you wouldn't fuss at my spending time too much on curling my eyelashes or finding the right shoes or going through numerous of outfits--because you have known my family for years and you'd end up sleeping on my brother's bed anyway, like usual. I'd smile at your antics, pointed out the humming of heavy traffic outside before you could fall into deeper slumber. We would immediately go to your car, that was park nicely in front of my dark wooden fence. I'd mess up your dashboard. Or perhaps sitting awkwardly. Or maybe staring at your face, hung at your words and the way you explain things to me.

By the looks of it, it would be forever until we'd reach our destination. But we would be okay, we would be packed with our words, with your stories and your informations and your hand gestures. We would discuss about our mutual friend, how so-and-so was doing really well with her study but not with her love life, how that buzzcut guy was now doing oration and how most of our inner circle friends seem to have scandals with one another.

Then we would laugh. Our eyes would tell each other secrets that the mouth, nor the head or the heart, could not convey. Mutual understanding--simple agreement between both parties that neither acknowledge nor realise until it is too late. We would pass it as another affection-like adoration. Again, platonic. We would pass another traffic light. And then another, and then another.

And at one point, one of our favourite songs would come up on the radio and you would sing along with me. It would end at the exact time you park your car and let me out of it-- our temporary mode of transportation, because you prefer riding the tube or walking. My arm would hang itself through your purposefully created loop with my hand grip tightly on your forearm, the place where your temporary tattoo was once made. You would kiss my head, once (or perhaps twice, discreetly). And I would know then, I have fallen in love with you. You would be someone that I love.


You would be my predestined soulmate.
(but now all I got is only a lousy hello)

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