stripped bare

Are you?

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I watched you sleeping soundly, like a baby, the side of your face pressed down firmly on to the pillow, your hand half-covering your face as if to block it from someone who’s coming to take your dreams away. You tremble slightly from the chill in the air-conditioned room, but you could never stand the heat, baby. There’s a void on the bed beside you, shaped like me. It was always a tight fit, two of us on my super-single, but I secretly liked it because it meant you’d be lying closer to me.

I’ll be honest and tell you that I just read something I shouldn’t have again. It started as an accident, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from it even though I recognised it the moment I saw the first few lines. It brought a tidal wave of emotions over me, and I had to look up from what I was reading to make sure you’re really sleeping next to me. You are, snoring away, oblivious to the tears rolling down my face.

These two years have passed by like a dream, just as fleeting, just as surreal. The only thing real to me is your warm body, pressed firmly against mine.

I read those words because I missed them. This side of you disappeared slowly after we met. You said, “Happiness does not write, love.” And I understood what you meant. I found my words slipping slowly away from my fingertips as well. But I can’t help wondering—foolishly I know—if perhaps there is something lacking in me that caused this drought in you. You leave a little of you behind each time you write, a little piece of your heart, a little piece of your love…

I climbed into bed and hugged you tightly from behind. Your hands subconsciously clasped mine and you held them over your heart. I wept silently, the tears that haven’t fallen in a long time.

Are you mine, really?

Are you?


Written by smudgi3

October 5, 2008, Sunday at 15:03

Posted in Dear Diary, Him, Perversion

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