emanon,
April. Though it was summer, it was pouring hard; a typhoon was in the forecast. The smell of petrichor goes along with the humid summer air. There I stood, under a shed, holding a closed umbrella on my left and a hand on my right. I was enthralled by the sound of raindrops falling on the galvanized iron sheets of the shed. The tiny drops would come together and fall down from the roof, like water coming out of a nozzle. And as they crash down the floor, they’d break into little droplets again.
I was staring at the rain for too long, until you held my hand tighter, “Observing things around you again, aren’t you?” You knew me too well. “Sorry for asking you out on a rainy day,” I responded, “I’ll take you to your place.” And that was when the bus arrived.
“Another spontaneous date again this time, isn’t it?” Together with a faint laugh and smile. It was our second year together. We didn’t mind what we were doing anyway. We laughed out loud in cafes sipping cold coffee. We slept in movie houses, only waking up at the end of the film. We tried baking at your house, but burnt every single cookie. Everything was fine as long as it was with you, even the simple bus rides home.
You wouldn’t let me sit by the window side, I’d daydream. And when you’re the one taking that spot, you’d doze off. The latter was favorable. With my arms around your shoulder, I’d pull you closer to my chest as you fall into deep slumber. With you so close to me, I’d be able to appreciate even the smallest details of your entirety. From the scent of your hair that smells of lavender shampoo, your rosy cheeks that complements your fair skin, your hands so soft and smooth, the tips of your long eyelashes, even the small whispers you make while you’re asleep. Funny how I observed all of these; that’s what you get for not letting me sit by the window side.
Those trips were too short for me to know you even more. Once the bus halts, we’d alight and walk hand in hand down to your place; it was time for us to part. A kiss on the cheek, a smile from a heavy-eyed face, and a sweet adieu from your lips. After a long day, I was alone again, and no clues brought me to think that it would last for a long time.
“I’m tired of everything,” the last thing you said. I thought you didn’t mind our spontaneous dates, the awkward silences. I thought you appreciated the little things, the simple bus rides home. I was too complacent to notice, that I was the only one who loved them.
I tried going on the same trail you’re travelling so that we’d be walking down the same path, down the same aisle in the future. We did, but now we’ve hit a fork on the road, leading us to the separate worlds we’ve been before. We rode the same bus home, but still, at some point we had to part.
September. A season for stronger storms. Everyone was rushing to get a ride home. I stood under a shed holding a closed umbrella on my left, and nothing on my right. Again, I watched the raindrops fall down the roof, long until the bus arrives. As I board, I sat down in a seat by the window side. I gazed at the seats across mine, and to my surprise there was a girl who sat by the window side together with a guy who embraced her to his chest.
Yes, there you go. You took the new trail and moved along faster and easier, while I was still stuck on the fork, trying to know which path to take.
Literary: Fork
April. Though it was summer, it was pouring hard; a typhoon was in the forecast. The smell of petrichor goes along with the humid summer air. There I stood, under a shed, holding a closed umbrella on my left and a hand on my right. I was enthralled by the sound of raindrops falling on the galvanized iron sheets of the shed. The tiny drops would come together and fall down from the roof, like water coming out of a nozzle. And as they crash down the floor, they’d break into little droplets again.
I was staring at the rain for too long, until you held my hand tighter, “Observing things around you again, aren’t you?” You knew me too well. “Sorry for asking you out on a rainy day,” I responded, “I’ll take you to your place.” And that was when the bus arrived.
“Another spontaneous date again this time, isn’t it?” Together with a faint laugh and smile. It was our second year together. We didn’t mind what we were doing anyway. We laughed out loud in cafes sipping cold coffee. We slept in movie houses, only waking up at the end of the film. We tried baking at your house, but burnt every single cookie. Everything was fine as long as it was with you, even the simple bus rides home.
You wouldn’t let me sit by the window side, I’d daydream. And when you’re the one taking that spot, you’d doze off. The latter was favorable. With my arms around your shoulder, I’d pull you closer to my chest as you fall into deep slumber. With you so close to me, I’d be able to appreciate even the smallest details of your entirety. From the scent of your hair that smells of lavender shampoo, your rosy cheeks that complements your fair skin, your hands so soft and smooth, the tips of your long eyelashes, even the small whispers you make while you’re asleep. Funny how I observed all of these; that’s what you get for not letting me sit by the window side.
Those trips were too short for me to know you even more. Once the bus halts, we’d alight and walk hand in hand down to your place; it was time for us to part. A kiss on the cheek, a smile from a heavy-eyed face, and a sweet adieu from your lips. After a long day, I was alone again, and no clues brought me to think that it would last for a long time.
“I’m tired of everything,” the last thing you said. I thought you didn’t mind our spontaneous dates, the awkward silences. I thought you appreciated the little things, the simple bus rides home. I was too complacent to notice, that I was the only one who loved them.
I tried going on the same trail you’re travelling so that we’d be walking down the same path, down the same aisle in the future. We did, but now we’ve hit a fork on the road, leading us to the separate worlds we’ve been before. We rode the same bus home, but still, at some point we had to part.
September. A season for stronger storms. Everyone was rushing to get a ride home. I stood under a shed holding a closed umbrella on my left, and nothing on my right. Again, I watched the raindrops fall down the roof, long until the bus arrives. As I board, I sat down in a seat by the window side. I gazed at the seats across mine, and to my surprise there was a girl who sat by the window side together with a guy who embraced her to his chest.
Yes, there you go. You took the new trail and moved along faster and easier, while I was still stuck on the fork, trying to know which path to take.
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