firsts

eight

He knocked on the door tonight as well. It was the first time that he knocked. He must have found his stuff that I've packed outside. He kept knocking in turns for five minutes, and he left after that. I watched him go from the window. His shoulders slouched. His hair in disarray. I couldn't see his eyes, but I did not courage to see them.

Without him, today was another normal day. In the mornings, I checked the news, watered the plants, and finished a novel, trying not to think of him. In the afternoon, I started a new novel, worked on a translation, trying not to think of him. In the night, I prepared diner (for one), did some housework, finished a novel, trying not to think of him. But he kept up popping into my mind, intruding and tramping on my heart. When he knocked, I wanted to answer it, continuing the new life that I've grown used to. But I've made my decision. It was the best for both of us. If he kept on depending on me, he won't be able to move on, with the people who he really knew and really loved. People who were part of his life at work or at home. Coming back here, back to me, only would remind him of his loss and I wasn't completely sure that I would be able to console his wounds.

For me, getting used to his warmth, his companionship would be death. What if he suddenly decides to leave me? What would I do then? I didn't have the courage to ask him to come back. Right now, going out of my home and visiting the local library and groceries were the best that I could do. I was scared of the life outside of my walls, scared of the dangers, the people, and the strangeness of it all. I am a coward, I knew it. But I hoped that Adam would not have noticed that side of me. The ugly side that I wanted to hide from the rest of the world, the secret I was resolved to die with. Will he hate me for this? Curse me before he goes to sleep, and think that having dreams of me would be considered as nightmares? Hate was a strong word, something that evokes and depicts a strong emotion. Did I think that he would have that strong of feelings for me? I laughed at my foolishness, and smiled drying, sipping on the tea that I brew for him often.

It was a dream that I have dreamt. A sweet false dream. But one that I would surely awake from.