I loved her, sometimes she loved me too. During the quiet weekends we spent in each other’s arms, this was all that I thought of. With every relationship, I believe there is a level of intimacy that is established that is unique to that relationship. It cannot be replicated, no matter how hard one tries, for this kind of intimacy is meant to be shared with you and that person alone. Those peaceful days when all work was irrelevant, and all that mattered was that you and this person were together. You had the opportunity to be grateful for the time you got to spend in each other’s arms, craving the feeling of absolute adoration. For some, this comes easy. Some people find the ability to love in every person that they meet. For others, the ability to love comes with significant strings attached. For me, the ability to love takes the form of a chase.
It’s the kind of chase that consumes you, the stakes are high, it takes priority over everything else, till you get to the finishing line. The finishing line being that sliver of light that escapes the doorway you walk to, arm in arm, every Sunday at 11:55pm. 5 minutes to midnight, and she is not with me. The night is starry, and she is not with me. When I walk home, she is not with me.
I never knew where she went on the weekdays. During the weekends, I never cared. We laid there, arms intertwined, her fingers woven into my scalp. I looked forward to the weekends, they were my favourite. We existed in silence, words weren’t enough to capture how we felt. We communicated through looks alone, thoughts were irrelevant. In the evenings we would head to the kitchen, she would pull out her laptop and sit on the counter, typing away words that weren't mine to see, words that I wouldn’t understand, or attempt to. I would avert my eyes and focus them on the bowl of pancake batter in front of me. Sliding a plate over to her, I would watch her reluctantly peel her eyes away from the cool blue screen. It was as if she was being interrupted while trying to get on with an old friend, her wide eyes going back to the same drowsy expression she woke up with.
Over time, her eccentricities turned into a pattern. A pattern I became very good at deciphering. It was like a poem, the primary theme was silence. Now that I think about it, part of me would have liked to break the silence. But I grew comfortable with the distance, waiting for her to close the gap. We would lie awake as long as our eyes managed, close them when we absolutely had to, rise when hunger was unavoidable. Then came the food. Then the walk, then the sliver of light I got so used to seeing.
I never knew what lay beyond the sliver of light. Sometimes, I imagined what colour the inside of her door was. I always thought it would be a rich green, it seemed to go with the mahogany of the outside. These thoughts were more frequent than I’d like to admit, all a part of the chase I had created along with my perception of her. Of course, I never actually knew what colour the door was, whether her apartment opened into a hallway or the living room, whether her shelves were adorned with those same clothbound books she would carry to mine to keep her occupied. I never thought to ask her these questions, then again any and all talking was prompted by her. For the most part. I love you was perhaps the most fatuous thing I could say to her, especially when I was unsure whether I even meant it. But still, it flowed out so easily, and the unabashed feeling of regret was almost nonexistent. I loved her, and I hoped she loved me too.
There were times I tried, times when the chase was too much. The funny thing about a chase is that you know it’ll end, you just don't know when. With her, the when turned into an if. There is only so much you can find out about a person before you have to ask. The tired eye rolls, the soft humming, the ever furrowed eyebrows, and the feeling of hot coffee breath as she brought her face close to mine. These were things she let me know about her, things I wouldn't need to ask about.
There was one day however, when the distance got to me, and I tried to close the gap. She looked me in the eyes, not a single expression was detectable on her face. The corners of her mouth moved, but no words were heard. She quietly walked away, closing the door behind her.
It was those fleeting moments that made me realise how easily she would walk in and out of my life. She was like the harsh tide you encounter at the beach on a stormy day, thrashing against the rocks, leaving just as quickly as they came, disappearing into the boundless ocean. It was foolish to think she would stay, and it was even more foolish of me to ask her to. 11:55 pm. The night is starry, and she is not with me. My heart looks for her, and she is not with me. I walk home, she is not with me.
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