He has the same old stiffed feelings. It does not easily break down. Once it’s fragile, it is divided into two without the trace of history. I have some shards of his memoirs. I have a great interest in recollecting them till they colors themselves.
Encountering every pinch of wind on the speed of 60 km/hr, I had my trust on his back. It’s so warm, guarding my face against the knock of stranger blows. We laid on the nails of grass. It didn’t poke us.
“Can you picture something now?” he pointed the clouds drifting away in slow motion. I closed my eyes, opened the drawer of imagination and tried to figure out what it exactly looked alike. Instead, I unlocked the recent fights we had. “You are still silent! Talk to me for the god sake”
“I…I I… Paul I” I tried to answer but the words got stuck and clutched me right there. I felt as if I was going to choke up the empty vibrant. He sighed lowly. “I married her without my consent. How many times do I have to tell you that I want you, right now, with me?
All I heard was “he wants me.” The remaining part faded away like it didn’t even exist. He has the tied ribbon on the up most priority. How can I meddle in his knots? I was staring at his tie dancing on its own. Perhaps his wife had tied him up. But he can do it on his own. Oh gosh! What am I even thinking about? I hadn’t answered yet.
“You could have told me earlier. Paul, I …”
“And if I did that, would you have loved me?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know I don’t know ….” I could taste the saltiness around my lips. “Take me to the work, you owe me that”
This time, he didn’t answer me and ignited the fumes off to take me back from what we dreamed off. His back turned ice as I tried very hard hiding my tears off. How can I love a person who shares his back with ‘wife without consent’?