Now that I look back at the ruins of our relationship, N, it becomes apparent that we both had been testing each other all along, although none of us would admit that in this lifetime.
My test went like this: “if you really care for me, you will not pressure me into having sex with you”, while your test went: “if you really care for me, you will make love to me.”
I really don’t have the heart to say this, but I’ll say it anyway: we both fail each other miserably.
You cannot blame me for remembering every detail of that day, Dear.
Did you know?
I used to memorise your words. I told my skin to memorise yours. Every time I lay in bed, I would start aching for you. Even when I was too busy to call you, my body would always miss you.
Did you know all that?
You cannot blame me for remembering how scorching hot that day was.
My legs were in pain: I had been driving 45 kilometres, away from everybody, to find a secluded place, to be with you.
My words were scarce: you understood my laughs, my touches, my every gesture, and I was thankful for that. I was thankful that I didn’t have to talk too much whenever I was with you, that serenity of the time spent with you was the one thing that I miss so much now.
My heart was heavy: I had grown tired of keeping you a secret from everybody. I knew you were tired of keeping me a secret too. I knew that the days without you were lurking near. We both didn’t dare pointing it out to each other. To this day, I still can’t figure out how exactly we agreed on the decision to disappear from each other’s life and pretend that nothing has ever happened.
You cannot blame me for remembering how long we were locked in a hug, how words stopped being important, how warm your skin felt to my touch. You cannot blame me for remembering: your lips were sweet, your breathing was deep, your hair as smooth as a baby’s, you kept opening your mouth to say something but couldn’t get the words out. You cannot blame me for remembering how deep we were lost in those kisses.
You cannot blame me for remembering how you tasted exactly. It was the first time I took somebody to my mouth, and the taste of you stayed on my tongue for so long.
Do you know?
Food tastes funny to me since then, as if they lack something I cannot put my finger on. I try to curb my longing for a fuller taste by adding salt to everything.
Until it dawned recently on me: nothing tastes right to me because my life is lacking you.
