I pulled you into in alley, dark though it may be. So as soon as the paparazzis were gone, I take you back to the hotel. You raised your eyebrows at me as we pass by it.
"We'll be free."
The grin I get from you could have revived me from death.
I hold your hand as we walk two, three, ten blocks from the hotel. Nobody notices us. The Singaporeans don't know us. Of course they don't.
Free. It's the word you use.
Happy. Content. Those are the words I would use. Only because I'm free with you.
When we pass by a small cozy coffee shop, you tug my hands and pull me inside. You get me my usual coffee, the one only you can make at home, and pushed me down on a chair for two on the corner of the shop, looking out the streets of downtown singapore.
I see you sit in front of me and I forget the beauty of a nation. Your beauty, to me, far outshines any nation.
You squeeze my hand across the table, with that little smile you've never lost since we left and said, "We have to go back in two hours."
"I know."
I have to tell you in two hours.
Before we live our reality. Before I run out of time.
I have to tell you.
I love you and I do not intend to let you go.
Not this time.
