One never seriously thinks of leaving one's city. I don't think I ever did. Seriously.We sit around and talk about moving to another city and living on our own, Without anyone. Without the simple pleasure of sneaking in your father's alcohol in your own room and drinking to sleep; without the comforts of the familiar...
There's my entire life until this point right here; and then there's you.
You, whom I can't tell of my leaving.
You, with your beautiful hands and strong arms. You, with your ability to listen even when you didn't understand. You, with your thinning hairline and smirk smiles. You, with your oblique jokes and direct possessiveness. You, with your sharp memory of all our moments and conversations. You, and the way you'd just look at me; through me. You, and me under those dingy spots we called ours.
You, with your fucking complacency!
You, whom I can't tell of my leaving.
Because you'd never say what I'd want you to say. You'd not breakdown and tell me not to go. You won't be shocked or even surprised. Just mundane. You'd not look me in the eye. Somewhere through your second cigarette you'd say something like 'Mat Ja Waise. What'll you do there?"; and that would be it. And just like that we'd begin. Or end. Without any introduction whatsoever. With us, there never can be one, perhaps. No labels, they say. Never like the popular karaoke songs... more like the one you hum without even realizing. The songs in your head. Not that I don't love it that way. You know me enough to know that I do! But just this once, I don't know why, I need you to get dramatic! Lots of pomp and show... tell me you'd always think of me and how I'd probably leave a huge void in your life. But you won't. You'd just sit there with all knowing faces and tones, convinced that things are going to be the same when I get back. And more importantly, that the time away doesn't even count. We'd find other things to do.
Other people to do.
Your complacency is beginning to get annoying!
You, with your fucking complacency!
You'd think this might be the alcohol in me; but I have a feeling it's you.