Change, no matter how hesitant, will always produce little flowers of happiness between sand and stone. During the light and sunny moments I tell myself change is inevitable but I do not hope that my being present in your life would make a difference. But there you went and attributed an importance to me that I did not feel deserving of yet. Or maybe I was just afraid. Emotions become the sea that I watch and hear from afar. It has taken on a remote quality that perturbs me when its little wavelets escape forth onto the surface.

Your eyes no longer appear that guarded and just last evening when the last light of day was draining from the sky as music seeped from the speakers with the encroaching dark, you never looked more lovely when you knelt down in front of me on a bent knee, flower proffered – gesture poetry – as you mouthed the words to Wada na Tod. I knew it was but a little playacting and I was half glad that you stood up just as I was about to accept the flower – as my heart was about to take a tumble – and cheerfully belted out an expletive. Half glad and half sad.

‘Are you happy, honey?’ you asked. ‘Yes I am,’ I answered. ‘And…you?’ ‘Yes I am!’ was his quick answer before I even finished. ‘That was too quick!’ I cried. ‘But I am and I knew you would ask it!’ he retorted.

‘I wish we were going together,’ he said quietly. I didn’t know what to say so I smiled. ‘But you get so crazy after a few drinks, damn!’ he laughed. ‘But soon, honey, soon…’

Your sheepish face as you displayed your old and very much used handphones in your palms like they were jewels of the Orient. ‘This is the handphone I used during my marriage.’

A dull dart through the regions of my heart.

‘But one day I will do a collective burning.’

Once I was gripped with the desire to know everything there is to know about you but as time went by I realised that it is dangerous for me. Can I really risk it, I ask myself. Honestly I hated the fact that you still keep the photos of you and your exes and that we have none of our own. It also puzzles me that you refuse to have your picture taken; I stem the urge to let myself react to that.

I am still wearing my bulletproof vest, darling.

However your growing tenderness towards me is stripping it down slowly and I become heavy with the potential of being part of a collective two with you. So heavy, darling, as you lean your forehead on mine and speak to me in an octave above a whisper. You thank me for being part of your life and promise me that there is nothing else that is worth mentioning from your past – you won’t bring it up again.

Somebody close to me told me recently that you would know you are in love when you are willing to do everything for love without expecting anything in return and each action is like second nature to you. You don’t hesitate to even think about what you are doing and seldom do you realise that you are in love until the very end.

Oh, things that we do not know about even though we think about it all the time.

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