the residue of your lips,
the taste of your skin.” —Daily Haiku on Love by Tyler Knott Gregson
It was Thursday night, Friday morning. The spot of the area where she was staying is like a reek place to stay of dispatched moment of wanting her- wanting her more.
She saw me looking at her, and she smiled back at me, she giggled and started to cover her face with white sheet. I think she was cute and I can hear her breathe, then she became quiet. I turned to my typewriter and continue my work. The time wasn’t running so fast and I also wanted to finish this as early as possible. I was becoming impatient because I couldn’t concentrate, I can hear the clock ticks every second as it moves, the conversation from the other room, while I heard watching television from the other side of the panel, and my love, my dear love Constantine, I think she’s sleeping because she’s quiet for 5 minutes already. And so, I should go back to my work before I end up cramming again for the next 15 hours before the submission.
Our room was quite dim, and because of the brick walls it made our room even darker. The side lamp was open, there’s not much light produced maybe because it was too old since Constantine bought it four years ago from the thrift store, and it’s given. It’s already old. And I have no right to demand to change it because 1.It’s her house and 2. It’s her house. So there’s no other choice to be choose from, and I should better to shut my mouth and proceed to my business.
Dammit. I can’t concentrate.
1:23 in the morning turned to 1:34… 1:45. My fingers stabilized the memory of my work, tapping through the key top, the click and ting of every paper that are about to finish, misguided letters of s to x. It became the known gesture and a routine, which makes my life more duller. But I have to finish this, enough with my rants.
My patience is about to become a self-bombed war that any time soon it’s about to explode, oh I can see the time walking though a pole or something. The last time I checked the clock was 1:45 and now, it’s only just 1:47. I started to talk to myself and say things that aren’t good to hear. I know that’s how awful I am.
But from my peripheral view, I was a bit crept on what I feel-someone’s staring at me. And slowly, I turned my head to the right and I saw her staring at me!
In my head was like, was she possessed or something? I hope not! Because dude, it’s only 1:47 turning 1:48 in a matter of 1 second. It’s not yet 3:00 in the morning- as they said it was the devil’s wake up call.
“Are you okay honey?” she asked, Good Lord! She’s okay. I nod, and I went back to continue my work.
Thank God she’s awake! Now I feel a lot better and more braver now because: 1.I don’t have to grudge and spill the crams all over myself, 2. whenever I get bored I can talk to her or my favorite choice 3. You know what’s going through my mind! It’s midnight, the weather is great, she’s there, and I’m here. I smirked.
She covered herself with a thin white blanket and I can see her silhouette because of the light given by the old, dusty lampshade. She started to play, running her fingers through some paneled cloth as it shadows her bones to skin, she started humming. I stopped typing.
She started singing softly, and I was also singing through my head
(was that possible? that my head can actually sing? I mean literally singing, with voice and other components of other organs?)
This moment is perfect, it always have been so perfect when I’m with her. The moonlight brightens up the space and it floods to the floor. I knew from the start that I love her without any reason, I love her.
She got up from the bed and she continuously singing, “And it’s Friday, I’m in love…” She dances gracefully and I was smiling-she’s a really good entertainer!
I sat on the bunk of the bed and made myself as an audience. She grab my hand just like scene in concerts, she choose me over a hundred crowd.
I whirled her around in my arms while she sings some few of the stanzas,
“Dressed up to the eyes
It’s a wonderful surprise
To see your shoes and your spirits rise
Throwing out your frown
And just smiling at the sound
And as sleek as a sheik
Spinning round and round
Always take a big bite
It’s such a gorgeous sight
To see you eat in the middle of the night
You can never get enough
Enough of this stuff.”
I grabbed and let her lean towards my body, we slow dance and I begin to hum, “I like this, we should have done this more often.”, she said.
The night became our stage, the cover blanket, the stuck chair as our audience, the moon dances with us like a disco ball as well as the stars, while Constantine and me the important casts of this moment, I slowly inhale the gasp of my feelings ahead of my emotions.
I kissed her on her forehead, she filled my night with sweet and lullabies
Step by step, we get closer and closer. I’m staring in her eyes as she leaned her head on my shoulder, “I love you Constantine”, I said.
Everybody’s sleeping, as they breath silently. I can barely hear the noise from the outside of our room, the window creeks slowly as it close. It’s quiet, but it’s a good kind of silence.
And it’s only us who are awake in this sleeping world, as we traveled through our unraveled minds- that we can call this moment is ours.
I smiled with no other reason; I smiled because I missed smiling again for the past one year. I missed carrying this emotion without any doubt, worry. Worrying too much.
I miss having this, especially I miss her.
My mind is floating through the first page that I wrote something about her, the temptation to look for my notebook that I dedicated to someone that I can’t resist and the urge of going back to the time where she’s still with me. Each letters spelled with her name, the words described on how we were before, those sentences signify our love, and every paragraphs evolve with contentment that we had. I can’t truly forget how to describe her and I don’t think I won’t forget every detail that she have had.
To you Constantine, the concept of the matter that you were trying to employ to yourself made me really think that you’re just a baluster being who tried to think that you’re okay, you made me believe that everything has a purpose in your life. In the beginning, you never misspelled your favorite word that you thought you would use it in your entire life, you smile when I think and have this feeling that you were terribly sad for losing someone in your life, you promote that life really matters to you and I remember agreeing with you.
You never showed any abundance or neglect and said, you have to live your life peacefully and appreciate the freedom that once you have owned. And now that I can’t tell those hardships that you went through. You have no idea how heartbreaking it was to me, and I have to let these feelings go and just let the air flies with it.
You should have told me Constantine, and I know that it’s crazy to have this mixed emotions. I’m really mad at you but then at the same time I wanted to see you, which is very conductive at this moment. I miss you.
Back at hand, you may disagree to this but it’s actually true. You gnarled the sense of fundamental depression with your irrational transformation on how you treated me. I know you’re not like that, I knew you from the very first day I landed my eyes on you and now, your outlook to the world has begun to change.
Changing us is another story to tell. I hope to change yourself first, rather than blaming your own harsh guilt on your life’s fate mistreated you.
I remember her opening all her problems to me. It was not radically awkward but the retrospect of becoming a listener isn’t my forte.
Constantine, twenty-three years old, she was born in mid-summer of April when her mother got pregnant with her idiot boyfriend and vanished away. And along side of her maternal parents, they took care of her and as she refuses to tell- she just said that, that was the end of her memory as she could remember. She never met her teenage mother, but she’s still thankful to her for not throwing her to a submerged city or let those cats eat her to death.
She lives alone ever since she got a job as a waitress in a pancake house and was trying to decide if she wanted to be a stripper in a near bar where she works. She always peeked through the window and sees those strippers wearing a shimmer bikini that only done with their bare hands or a piece of cloth that shows their humongous boobies. She just loves staring at them and thought she was a lesbian. She had a very first relationship with a stripper, and tried every little thing all for the first time. But thankfully that she never had Gonorrhea, Chlamydia and all those shits that scare her, and no, she didn’t try any other influenced by using drugs.
She’s also thankful and thinks her girlfriend was way too kind to her but Constantine wasn’t So, that boredom leads to cheating ideals and other infidelities magnify their relationship. Yes, she still considers it as a relationship and that proves her that she was only bi-curious that time. Maybe
She quit her first job and she lands her fate as a book keeper. Well, although she doesn’t read that much-she still thinks that books are interesting. And that began her first love; she fell in love with the owner of the store. Though he was 10 years senior as her age but she doesn’t care.
To her it’s sublime.
Captivating those figures, they did something behind the book shelves. It shakes, it rattled, and then it shakes again. All she hears was their undefined breath gasping for more air. Her lungs wasn’t stable, she wanted to go and ended her contract.
From then on, she never understood and appreciated why quickie was ever invented by people who are promiscuous and the fact that they are scared to get caught by someone: 1.Wife 2.Partner and lastly 3.I’m just not available at this moment. End of the story.
Constantine renders her feelings in her deep and inner thoughts. She thinks that the world where she lives has been so good to her when the time she have nothing to turn to. She relies on her traditional beliefs and reliance that made her feelings tough.
She always thought of herself as a human adenoid, she maybe strong without any doubt. People may treat her like a non existing word or incurable illness-which is taking her for granted. Whatever mishaps she had, still she would take it as a part of her own map which only represents some of her features of reality. Sadly to say but with those losing grip of her soul she still hopes that someone will find her.
Without those gradual criticism where she came from up to what she is in the present. That’s the only thing she could offer to her-said future partner, her love and flaws, everything in her right position of her own insights- giving an amount of space, time, solution and aspects. She out view of world is bigger than the people who treated her and said she’s useless.
The world is really kind indeed, and I agree with her. It is just a radical influence of conducive surprise that we may realized that we seem to lead in one direction but the world is just full of surprises, that we, our own selves can only justify and decide on what were the things can only show of our life’s bitter sweet manifesto.
She is braille.
I read her with my hands,
her body speaks to me.
fluently.” —Jhavia Nicole
It’s just so hard for me to tell you that: I miss you, the whole everything about you.