avant qu’elle parte, six

nothing has been the same since. nothing.

more than a month ago; zinc. the usual. filmmaker and the quiet one came to my neighborhood that evening for a film and I had to drag myself out to see them. an hour, two at most, I thought to myself, and then I will go back to sleep. the night ended at eight in the morning somewhere. always somewhere. train took eleven minutes to arrive, which was the longest time in the history of hong kong subway. we became antsy; rome wasn’t built in a day on lousy phone speaker. whore town. then propaganda. I hadn’t been there since that one fatal saturday night at the beginning of march. but this time it was completely empty, deserted. joyce’s has undergone renovation around that time and now it resembles a barbie house. but I am starting to get used to it. it rained heavily that night. we drank red wine, took our shoes off and let the rain soak our clothes. water dripped from my clothes, hair; I looked like as if I had just stepped out of a swimming pool. a wet, crumpled cigarette between my fingers but I kept it burning. somewhere around two o’clock, I lost track of time.

we made our way back down the hill; back to d’s place. he was pleased to see me. I was secretly hoping to run into the other one; the one that should have been the only one. I wanted to hurt him more than anything else. I wanted to him to see me smiling, laughing. I was careless that night but I knew something was terribly wrong. I could feel it in my bones, literally, that something was wrong. everything inside me started changing and I knew the instincts were going to come up on the surface soon, too. it had to be stopped. the one I’d been neglecting this entire time appeared after three, I didn’t know he would be there. where else would he be. people trailed off, I don’t remember leaving at any point in particular. just that we weren’t there anymore. no walks around parks anymore. we just waited for the sunrise. we always do. everything changed after that day.

I hadn’t seen anyone. I hadn’t talked to anyone. nothing; silence and solitude. I wanted nothing and no one. except for the one who should have been the only one. in my dreams, the city kept coming down, earthquakes turning it into useless rubble of glass and stones. I walked through the burnt remains, alone. I dreamt a dream I’d read about in a book. white oleander comes to me in my sleep more often than any other novel. I’ve always wondered. days turned into weeks before even had the chance to realized it.

first free evening in such a long time. we made the tour backwards. from the red light district back to peel st. I laughed for the first time in about a month. it was good to know that not everything has changed. certain things have remained the same; familiar faces and our usual drinking holes. the park behind the seven eleven remembered us. only we know which park; which seven eleven. everything became so cryptic, despite its simplicity. perhaps, I made it that way, I am not sure. everything that I needed, when I needed it. that’s how he is. it is almost as if he possesses a certain sixth sense. he’d always known that something was wrong. it makes me uncomfortable sometimes, but knowing that he cares makes it easier to sleep at night. for the time first since we’d met, I danced with him. I let my guard down, just did what felt good. elegant lasciviousness in the air; little sparks flying, everyone could see them. he let me go home alone reluctantly. the little one has two small teeth now, you should come see her. it was only because of that I returned to my old self on the way home.

July 20, 2012