I woke up with a heart ache and a massive pile of tear soaked tissues.
Not the best way to wake up, but when your boyfriend got delayed in coming home again, crying all night can become a habit. Especially when you haven’t seen each other for more than a year.
I remembered his pained face when he told me that his study contract had to be extended. He was graduating from his masters, and his professor made him stay two more months so my boyfriend could “tweak” his thesis. He was frustrated and homesick-just like me. He has always been my home, no matter where he was. And I was his.
Thank God for modern technology, the way I could see him every night and hear his voice like he was just beside me. But technology could only do so much.
I couldn’t feel his warmth, they way his breath would tickle my ear when he hugged me from behind. The way his nose would brush mine just before he kissed me. The way he’d hold my hand when we crossed the street like a kid, and he’d never let go at once. His hands would just linger its touch, sometimes with his thumb brushing mine.
I missed his unfunny jokes, the way he’d make me laugh over the most stupid things. I missed the way he never stopped singing so badly when I tried to ignore him, knowing that soon I’d give attention to him anyway.
I hated being so far from him, and I felt like we were growing apart.
Sometimes the thoughts would run in my head wildly like forest fire.
What if he was different now?
What if I wouldn’t recognise who he is in the inside anymore?
What if he’d thought that I was different?
I can’t imagine how I feel around him anymore. What if everything was different now?
Sometimes I secretly wished he stayed where he was, just so we wouldn’t get awkward when we meet again.
What if he didn’t love me anymore?
We haven’t talked in two weeks since he had to concentrate on his thesis. Endless days of overthinking and crying and hoping to see him again.
One night my friends wanted to get me out of my funk, and tried to coax me into going to a blind date. After refusing a lot of times, I gave in, with the promise of telling him about it.
My friends blind folded me, saying it was the whole point of having a blind date. They led me somewhere I didn’t know, made me turn around three times, then made me sit down. I took off my blind fold and there he was, in a suit and tie, smiling like an idiot. There was white pasta in front of both of us, and a candle at the side.
“Hi.” He whispered.
“I’m Ken. You’re Kelly right? Your friends were right, you are very pretty.”
I couldn’t help but smile as he played on with the “blind date”
“You look pretty handsome too.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t do this in person, but will a flying kiss do?”
“I don’t kiss on a first date.”
“Will a handshake do?”
He extended his arm out, and I reached for it.
I held in a tear as I pretended to shake his imaginary hand, and he did the same. The screen between us felt like we were boxed, yet he smiled at me brightly.
“Nice to meet you Kelly.”
“Nice to met you too Ken.”
Not so good, I know. I’ve been in this funk when I can’t write because my meds make me sleepy. Bugger.
Original, all mine, and fiction.