September 18, 2012
“This article is called we don’t always end up with the love of our lives and that’s okay.”
“Is it as lame as it sounds?”
“I don’t know, a lot of people seem to be agreeing with it.”
“Well, do you?”
“I ended up with the love of my life.”
“But would it be okay if you didn’t?”
“No. I don’t think I’d be okay if we didn’t end up together.”
September 18, 2015
I always managed to wake up a few seconds before he did. Watching him devour those last few minutes of sleep before groaning and shutting off the alarm, was one of my guilty pleasures. I’d listen to him breathe, try to match his breath, count his breaths and watch his eyelashes, that could give most mascara brands a run for their money, flutter when he dreamed. He’d then wake me up, tell me his dream, plant a kiss on my forehead and then strut off to make us coffee.
This morning, he dreamed that we owned a puppy called Shadow.
“You remember that lame florescent sign board we saw that night we met?” I asked him from beneath the sheets while he had already collected our clothes from last night and stashed them in a pile, before heading off to the kitchen.
“Of course. Two Souls Don’t Just Meet By Accident,” he said without stopping to think. “You thought it was a quote picked up from that artsy website you love so much,” came his voice from the kitchen. “You flipped me off in the bitchiest way possible. You remember, you pointed to your shirt when I tried to talk to you?”
Abcdefuckoff, my shirt had read. I still had it stashed somewhere in my closet.
“And then when I asked you to dance, you said you don’t dance. Two seconds later, you were dancing with some asshole,” he continued, his voice edging closer to the warmth of the blanket that so strongly smelled of him - warm and musky, with a hint of caffeine.
“No swearing early in the morning,” I said, rolling on to his side of the bed.
“Who dances with somebody they are not in love with?”
“Normal people,” I sighed as he placed two mugs of coffee – one steaming hot and one not-so-hot, on the table beside me. “You know what else normal people do? They don’t ask a random girl in a bar if she’s in love with somebody. It’s bound to creep her out.”
“But I managed to woo her anyway, didn’t I?” he said, getting under the sheets and trying to nuzzle his prickly bearded face into my hair.
“Go away! You’re going to be late Kabir,” I pushed his face away from mine. “And you might want to shave. Your beard is getting a little out of hand and always poking me in weird places.”
“Care to explain what these weird places are? Because I don’t recall you having a problem with all the places my beard explored last night,” came the smug response that left an instant trail of goosebumps on my skin. I opened my eyes for the first time that morning and his under-appreciated smiling brown eyes met mine before he hopped off the bed.
I watched him go about his routine. It was my favourite thing to do in the morning. It was like watching art being made. He was like all of my favourite colours put together – like a personalised rainbow after a stormy night. Like my favourite book that I had read countless times where my favourite parts were underlined and highlighted so I could go back and re-read them anytime. The only one who managed to connect all my dots, despite the trail being too long, and transforming me from human error to constellation.
Kabir. My favourite piece of art.
September 18, 2016
“Why are your shoulders so slumped? You look like you’re carrying sadness on your back,” Kabir asked as soon as he saw me.
Two seconds later, I was a crumbling mess in his arms.
“I always knew you were made of stardust – carelessly carrying my heart around like you didn’t even know. You’ve spent so much of your life waiting for this very moment. You should go. But know this, wherever you are going, however far away, you will always come back to me,” he said, arm around my shoulder as I sipped on my beer through a straw.
“That almost sounds like a curse,” I said, cracking a smile and burying my face into his chest for what felt like the last time.
September 17, 2017
Off late, I hadn’t been sleeping very well. Dreams of neon signboards, white sheets and brown eyes consistently woke me up at night. They say sleeping next to someone you love makes you fall asleep faster – so it only made sense that I was barely sleeping at all.
Nervous to be back after almost a year, I stepped into what looked like a brand new café on an otherwise familiar street. Balloons still hung at the entrance and the specials board was still empty. The barista looked surprised to see me walk in but happily took my order. I picked an inconspicuous table in a corner, settled down and began to work on my laptop when a sudden bright light caught my attention.
What Does Your Soul Look Like? The neon pink signboard above the barista’s counter read. I stared at it until the barista brought over my steaming hot coffee and placed it on a coaster that had a picture of the signboard on it, with an arrow indicating to turn over.
On the other side, was a picture of a beer bottle with a straw in it, and scrawny handwriting that read, ‘This is what mine looks like.’