“I don’t recall,” you said.
“Yeah, me neither,” I lied.
And so, we both stared into nothing remembering the exact moment we just claimed we had forgotten. You prided yourself for having the strongest memory all along.
You expect me to believe that it has failed you now?
“It’s so good to see you again,” but your eyes were dripping desolation and so whatever you were trying to sell me, I just wasn’t buying.
“It makes me happy to see you happy,” two lies this time but who’s counting? Oh right, you probably are.
That’s because one day you’ll remind me of my exact words like a playback recording. Yet there is no explanation for your momentary amnesia when I reminded you of that thing a minute ago.
I’m recording too, you see. You’ve taught me well. Words are weapons, and we will always be at war.
Your fingers are now playing an imaginary piano on the counter between us. That’s your cue of anxiety.
“I’ll have a green tea,” you muttered. I don’t recognize the person in front of me. “I drink tea now, it’s a new healthy habit.”
If you’re ordering tea, then you better spill already. Also, I wish you knew the importance of emotional health like you do physical.
The silence was looming, and your eyes never met mine. Avoiding unnecessary thunder. It had already rained on our parade.
If only our internal voices were having the conversation, then we would’ve gotten somewhere by now.
Now you are sipping on your herbal tea and I can tell you immediately regret trying to seem new and unpredictable to me.
“Here, you can have my coffee,” I pushed my cup across the table and you briefly held on to the back of my hand like it was going to fall. But it wasn’t going to fall.
“Thank you,” and I can tell you know that you shouldn’t be pretending to be someone new. I’m not here to have a conversation with anyone but you.
An hour passed and neither one of us picked up their phone to check it. Our old quarrelsome selves would’ve been proud.
“What is so important that you can’t give me five minutes of your time to listen?” you yelled, and I covered my ears.
“I’m trying to get this work thing out of the way, so I can give you more than five minutes,” I replied calmly.
“Hah, nice. You always have something smart to say. Always the perfect excuse,” you were furious, and I resented your attitude.
That day, I never found out about your day. We got busy with bigger issues. That day now feels like another person ago.
We were both looking down and for a second, I could swear we were thinking of that exact same memory. The different stories of it.
Do you speak to her like that? Do you slam doors and break phones? Or is that another person ago for you too.
“Why am I here?” you broke the silence.
“Were you thinking what I was thinking?” I surprised you with my intermission.
“Aren’t I always?” It took you a minute to cook it up, but you said it. The exact same way you used to.
In a past life, I would have said “always” but I responded to your cliché with a smirk. You have become unworthy of my occasional romance.
“Look at me,” I surprised you again. But you surprised me too with a tear stuck in what I once thought I would be staring into forever.
There is a forever after all. They will always be the only eyes that could show me love and hate so deeply intertwined.
You pushed my cup back to me. I held it like it was going to fall again. But this time it kept imaginarily falling for minutes.
It’s either a look or a touch. These two new phoney personas can’t handle both a look and a touch simultaneously.
“I remember,” you finally said the truth.
“I know, I do too,” in a game of truth or dare, this is a daring truth. “Are you ready to talk now?”
… to be continued…