Notes: Dedicated to missnhaca because she basically invented this pairing. And the "back" line I used totally reminds me of a scene in Goong. xD
Dawn comes and I feel the bed creak, and you wince at the vile springs. I want to tell you that you needn’t worry about wakening me- my eyes have not closed since the night. How can I, when I hear you breathing so steadily?
I think that I am relieved when you do not turn around to witness my bloodshot eyes. My voice would be hoarse if I tried to elucidate it to you: “I could not sleep with you here beside me.”
You are already by the door, your hand on the knob; this is the door to escape. I turn my head just as I hear the door open and close, and now all I can discern is how on this morning, the sun looks like it is bleeding.
The scene is a part of the act that you’ve mastered, but I know this entire play so well. I’ve been reciting my lines ever since you first left my room. The same things take place continuously, and so it is effortless for me to distinguish the mistakes from the recurrences.
The rest of the day is like a dream, and one that I am not part of. When I see you, I feel like touching you, but I remember that day is the time of unfamiliarity.
You are someone else.
I know how to kill time and make way for night, it comes quietly. I am patient, sitting up in my bed, whispering a song to myself as you enter. You catch a few of my words and replicate them for me like an echo. This room is like a cave.
“I have the same fears of the sea, both the tidal waves and the quiet wind.”
It sounds haunting in your tone, this certain atmosphere, but I know you do not grasp what I sing of. My songs are siren poetry to you- equivocal and ambivalent, and to me they are cloudless, a lucid anecdote.
Soon you are beside me and the rest is chronological, predictable and somehow exhilarating, in the way that last chances are put to use. But you are lucky, for now. And me, I am inauspicious. I have stared at the ambiguous skies and they have visibly read to me my ill-fate. Falling in a trail of final vibrancy, my heart is represented in the shooting star.
This time I notice simple mistakes. I ask you, “Why are you making them?” But you feign you do not hear me; now the only sounds you can perceive are the ticking clock and your own exhaling.
I am aware that tonight is different now, in the harsh way you are moving and the minor words that you speak. And as you breathe, I feel the walls cling tighter around me. It is a sardonic comfort I do not understand.
We love without quite meeting, and you consent to sleep as your next mistress.
For some reason I am drawn to sleep in this twilight, and before I close my eyes, I stare at you, turned away from me. Everything I have learned about love I have learned from your back.
In the morning I do not feel rested; I had dreamt about reality. My ear picks up your movement. I watch you by the door, but this time, as you reach for the doorknob, your hand is shaking.
Now I wonder, how can I be confident that I know your strict method of acting? Even my part in this tragedy is unclear to me.
As you stand there halfheartedly, I somehow do not recognize you at all.