Remnants

The indentation on my fourth finger still hasn’t faded, even though I haven’t been wearing the ring for weeks. My finger tends to get itchy. Some things become more apparent in their loud absence. I felt the full force of an old cliché: You won’t understand its value until you’ve lost it. I missed the warmth of his cuddles, a special kind of comfort I could only afford when we were together.

1:15 am: “My arm doesn’t hurt anymore, but I miss it.” He texted. 

Everything has turned into a reminder, even the tiniest details. I hear sounds, phrases, shadows and suddenly, I’m caught in a web of memories. He loves Kendrick’s music, I can’t listen to the album without feeling him bumping out to it. It was losing everything, yet remembering all at once. Like how the sight of a white Wira reminds me of late night drives where he held my hand as he drove. And for the rest of the drive, we were away from the prying eyes of judgmental people.

Where we weren’t different colors, but simply lovers.

Our divide was because of things we couldn’t change. The different gods we were raised to worship screamed at us for betraying them. It was the ultimate paradox we were condemned to. Guess that’s where religions draw the line for loving one another.

1:17 am: My phone chimed, “I’ll say it if you do.”

I feel remnants of our relationship everywhere I go. Real life bookmarks in everyday places. An endless list of your favorite places, food, drinks and friends. So I’ll hold on to mirages; allowing my mind to picture what it wants most. Letting my eyes see even if it’s not there. I leap for the water, whatever that quenches my desires. Only to find out that you are well and truly gone.

Don’t die for me, but live for me. Achieve what you kept delaying when you were so comfortable with me. Raise an empire for yourself to replace the home we could never build. We didn’t feel time since we’ve begun. But it’s alright, it happens. Everybody dies so close to magic. If I believe in you, I’ll find myself roaming the streets of your cities once again. Perhaps even finding a quiet cottage with my name on it.

Where you sit alone in the living room, waiting for the doorbell to ring.

1:25 am: “I love you, and I miss you.” My fingers typed instinctively. 

Written by Abigail Tan Sze-Xin. All rights reserved.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s