It’s the end of December as we know it. I am sitting here on the floor and the afternoon is bidding me goodbye. I have always loved afternoons, simply because of the luxury of solitude they provide me with. As a child I’d have spent that time reading. But childhood has been left behind by many December.
Now all I do in the afternoons is clutch at my heart and sit silently. I wait for the creaking fan to translate it’s laments into a language I understand. I listen for the sounds which nobody else cares for. I think of you and my heart starts to leak through my fist, onto the floor. I think of you a little more, and the heart is now a live animal — a kitten perhaps, with golden eyes. I think of you sitting in front of me, just close enough. Your hands on my shoulder, pulling me in. Your hands holding my face, like it’s an orbuculum, holding all your secrets.
I picture us walking down that park, hand in hand. In this made up world, I am loved to pieces and back everyday. I cook for you, and you bring me a little more of the world every night. We lay side by side in our expensive, dimly lit bedroom on soft sheets and miss out on city life. Because who cares? I don’t! I love you and the fact that I can fit bits of you in my hands is all that I care about. I think of us being in love, and my heart-which-is-now-a-kitten-with-golden-eyes jumps out of my hand and leaves a bloody trail on the floor, rushing out into the mouth of the evening. I don’t go after it.. A few minutes later my phone beeps. A notification from you.
“Was thinking about you, hope you’re well.”
Oh so that’s where my heart went.
