Falling

Oblivious laughs echo through the humid city air. Flashing lights and car horns. Everything with a slight delay. All edges blurred and softened. Morals, fading. Tripping out of the bar, he links my arm with his. Be careful, I say. If you keep doing things like this, I may just fall in love with you. Stomping along saliva-stained pavement, I thoughtlessly ramble about something and he pretends to follow. Slowly unwinding my arm from his, he laces his fingertips along mine. Losing control of whatever train my thoughts were on, my heart and I stop for a second and turn our gaze to him. I cannot control it. It is too late. I am falling. Falling. Falling. Fall-

'I hate you!' Eyes darting open to catch the glare emerging from the busy street through my window. With one hand lifting my body from the mattress, the other rubbing my forehead, I watch through the glass. A young woman with soft skin, bandaged in a tight red dress, is hurling verbal abuse at a man, seemingly twice her senior. Unfazed, the man would appear. Perhaps he understands that her "I hate you", truly translates to "I love you but it is hurting me."

Tightening a robe around my waist, I follow the stairs down towards the kitchen. The clock's hour hand ticks to three. Switching on the lamp, I noisily grind coffee beans into a small cup, holding the steaming caffeine underneath my nose. There is no use in attempting to regain my slumber. I will only find myself back on that street. With my hand in his. Each night I am there, though a new piece of the memory unlocks. A different corner of the pub where we spoke until forever. The shade of his eyes as the coloured lights reflected off them and into my hips. Notes in songs I could not recall the following morning pump through my veins, oh, so vividly.

Waking up does not get easier. The dream is so sugared that I wish to savour the taste before bitter reality forces my tongue. But, every time I awake to the truth, the wound deepens and it becomes harder to heal from. I read novels before I lay my mind flat on the pillow. Hoping my sleep finds me amongst the spaces between the sentences. Foolishly rubbing my temples with scented balms. Lavender. Chamomile. Sweet, sweet orange. White. Red. Black. The colours of my bedsheets that I remove and replace. It is no use, when she lays between his.

* * *

It is the following evening. I read, I rub, I replace. I hold my hands together. I pray. Spare me one night from this hurt. For, I am not sure if there is anything left of my heart to break. Aggressive car horns sound and the laughs seem closer. The lights are brighter. Lines, crisper. There he is. Sure of his place in the world. The strength of the barriers built around his soul. Talking, eyes gazing. Smiling, palms grazing. Something is different tonight. Yes, my dark hair is blowing in the late night, early morning breeze. Dark eyes, watching his. Falling. Falling. But, I am not falling. That is not me. The lens of my view is positioned further away. How can this be? She looks so familiar. Like a mirror. And, he is looking at her as he did me.

When I awake at 3 o'clock that late night, early morning, I do not assemble my routine of acceptance and espresso. The true voices that sound on the other side of the glass trickle into my daze until it sharpens and I am there. Watching him, watching her. As she pulls on the dumb waiter, pretending she does not consider the shape of her body as his eyes follow. Once they reach the front of the crowded queue, his palm lays across her lower back sending shivers through her skin that she hopes he does not notice. Drinks and drinks and water. More drinks. Taking sips from each others and leaning in closer to speak as the conversation becomes increasingly inebriated. He laces his fingertips along hers. She has fallen.

* * *

The truth has never seemed so honest. My mind cannot dislocate from humanity. These emotions are justified. That night was not nothing. Something changed in him. Something changed in me. It was clear for everyone around to see. Only when I was not in it, could I, too, see it for myself. Tonight, I drink my espresso earlier than usual. Slipping on the same black dress I wore then. Spending too much time styling my hair. Lining my eyes in a way that I knew he would like. Dowsing myself in perfume and anticipation. Three o'clock. Sober. Emerging into the flashing lights and car horns. There I am. On the same street. My hand in my own. Taking in all that this moment has to offer me, without him. Everything that I failed to notice while I was falling. Falling. Falling into myself. Now, each night that I rest my mind, I live this moment. Again and again. A sweetness that will not kill me to swallow.