A hug and all that we had ended. There is something that aches within me every time someone asks me about you, about us - a little frustration even and a little bit anger, like when you have a coffee you really appreciate one morning but has to go to work early so you end up putting the cup, your favorite cup, in the sink.
After that I hated hugs, and embraces, at the same time. You told me before that they are just synonyms, but the hugs are just casual, temporary, and welcoming. Embraces, however, you said are the same thing, just that they require more affection, desire to stay within the arms, or desire to hold someone within that arms.
I do not understand actually. I do not even know why I am talking about these things, these two are just the same to our language, "gákos."
We never hugged often.
Our first hug was a stolen one, taken in the dark, when we were blind to the public eyes, whispers in our ears, "can I hug you?" I asked. You said yes.
My arms were shaky, unsure of how you would react, would you hug me too? But I hugged you anyway, held you for fleeting seconds that to me, that time, felt like forever. Ah, so this how it feels holding the universe in my arms? I asked myself. The time has stopped and I felt the heartbeat of my existence.
Our last hug was when we said goodbye. It felt like an embrace. Was it an embrace? Perhaps to me it was, but just a hug to you. I still felt that heartbeat, like that first time, that warmth when two skin touch, yet that beat was faster this time, like a clock broken and does not know how to run normally. Will the time stop even when the clock is broken? Well, that moment, the time still runs and we were running, further and further from each other. You were there, staring at me, and I to you, inches away but too far away I could not see the stars within your eyes.
We were under a lamppost, lights on, but we were in the dark. Like the first time we hugged, but that hug was not stolen; we hugged, and hugged for a little too long for a goodbye yet a little too short to stay. A hug and all that we had ended.
Years after that, can I confess? I still get a hint of your perfume under that lamppost, when I walk there at night and remember that last hug we had. Or maybe I am just drunk when I pass there, or maybe I get drunk before I pass there just to have a reason to say this to you.
Now, I am sober. Years already, I never met you for a long time. How are you? Have you hugged someone again after our last? Will you not ask me if I did? Because I did, yet I could not feel the universe within their arms whenever I hugged them, or whenever they hugged me.
Now, I am sober. And I wish I am also sober if we meet again, and if we meet again.
And if we meet again, can we, this time, embrace each other?
