Hold Hands

Holding your hands, we walked up and down the steep slopes to reach where we have spent many of our sleepless nights together. The grass that felt our weight, trees that recognised our touch, the rocks that tickled our feet. I would give everything to see those eyes of yours again, that showed me the one person you said you couldn’t live without.

‘Surely it wasn’t the reflection you wanted me to see’, but the way you say ‘yes, it’s that simple!’, reassured me like no fixed deposit interest could. You would hold my hands no matter how sweaty my palms were, telling me that you would stick to me for life if possible, how confident was I that you wanted me more than I wanted you.

Away from the body of water was a trail, into the forest where I liked to be in. Despite wearing slippers, you would run ahead of me, look into every puddle and see if there was any tadpoles or fishes in it. I was sure the frequent visitors there were used to seeing me getting cornered to your random kisses, that got kind of predictable as time went by. Still, my surprise was for your never-dying love instead of the suddenness of your lips.

No matter how tired you were, you would never turn down late night supper, nor casual walks to each other. Even for a reason as lame as ‘I want to hug you’, you would try to get ahead of me to my house and let me crush you in my arms, so I can go back to sleep before you.

Yes, sleep. Can you remember the late night texting, that we secretly wished for the other party to fall asleep so we can poke fun the next day? You would treat me to nice meals and then bring me shopping, only to puppy-eye me into getting you the clothes you loved. And at the end of the month, when we were going broke, fast food and the coffee became our choice of dinner and supper.

You always asked me to cook for you dishes that weren’t easy, throwing recipes at me like I owned a restuarant. The complexity and hassle of making them, never felt once pointless with you hugging me at the worst timing, and then, looking at me with those dreamy eyes after I got all frantic. You would use your shirt to wipe my sweat for me, so you could sniff them when you take them off. You didn’t think I knew that did you?

Of all the times we ate the food I cooked, you would eat more than me, though I really really wanted more bites. How could I get angry with you? Not when you let me taste the sauce on your lips, after you were done.

Would it be cliche to like these simple things we did together? Of course it will be. But it’s you I want to do all these for again. To starve in delight while you snore with a bulging tummy, to be the overheated bolster you wouldn’t let go no matter how much I begged. To be your hand dryer when you tried to design something on my shirt with your wet hands, to be your wardrobe when you started stealing my clothes until I had nothing to wear. Though you did return them at one shot when I asked.

Do I miss you? No. Not at all. Not until I want to think about my past. You have came, left things, and ran away. You just didn’t know you are walking on sand by the beach, where the waves will erase the footprints. The things that stayed, are pebbles I have gathered to look under.

Right. And rubbish. You left some rubbish behind.

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