Architecture And Regret

It was that Saturday morning,
The day you were leaving for Singapore,
8:35 am, you were surprised I was able to get up so early,
Clouds pregnant with rain loomed overhead,
And you commented on the way the buildings looked better on the weekends,
That you wanted a house with pillars because you had an affection,
For Greek architecture,
Because they looked mighty and seemed to last long,
Or something like that,

 Walking fast and pointing at arches and structures and talking,
I tried to catch up to you,
Looking behind at me,
You kept laughing,
The Reebok boots I wore were too heavy to let me sprint,
So you reached the bus stop first,
And we were both heaving,
And laughing,
And panting and laughing,
The cars were prancing by,
Faceless horses with no distinctive features,
Nothing like you,
With your perfectly shaped eyes and the way you always try to peel the skin off your lips,
Then I slap your hands and scold you,
Because your lips look nice,
Then it catches on,
A snag,
I blush,
There’s a slight smile,
One of those hard to read kind of smiles,
I try to avoid staring directly at you,
I steal a glance,
You’re still trying to bore into me like a drill with those eyes of yours,
I tell you it’s annoying,
Stop looking at me so weird,
Then your hands are on me,
And I can feel your heartbeat through my chest,
I gasp the first time you blow on my ear,
The air is slightly chilly,
Yet, I feel,

 Then it happens,
And I’m sinking,
Into those lips,
Your lips,
How many minutes, I’ll never know,
You just don’t slap on a timer to these things,
I would have pressed on for years,
Without coming up for air,
Who needs oxygen?
When I’m breathing you in,
I looked into those eyes,
And then the bus arrived,
An intruder,
Panic folded me up and you were startled,
I stuttered and I stammered,
And I said,

The bus is here so you’d better get on now and that I’m sorry because that was so awkward and we should not have done it and I wish you the best and I’m sorry and don’t worry, I will try and write and we’ll still be keeping in touch by 2010,

Or something like that.


Architecture And Regret

© Hazim Haemoglobin



Architecture And Regret

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