The Moment: Arsenic Wine

Sleepwalking, I stumbled upon glass of wine.

Burgundy juice, serenely resting in its crystal prison, not a ripple. I dipped a finger into it, shuddered, because it was cold. Like a nearly frozen lake in the middle of winter, I thought. My finger started to stir it: maybe I could make it warm.

Warm enough to drink.

But no, it was a futile effort and it can never be warm. He is too good to me, too noble to hide daggers behind silk curtains. "It'll be better. Less painful," he told me.

I withdraw my finger with a lonely droplet clinging on the tip of it. Without delay I drank it, like a thirsty traveler deprived of water for days. My head swirled: that was the very first symptom.

Instinct told me to flee and save myself, never to come back; yet curiosity drove me further to take a sip. As cold wine took over my throat, my senses numbed. Every swallow hurt, every cut deeper.

Yet I still went back for it. Perhaps I wanted to end it like this, with pain and misery. It's easier to give up this way, isn't it?

And I went back for more, and more, and more... Laughing at my naive folly as I drunk myself, indirectly, killing myself.

The Moment: Milk Chocolate Melting

When he asked me, there was the sly smile on his lips. Although thin as a thread but I could sense it intimidating me, daring me, challenging me to follow.

And I did, like a lost kitten towards its mother.

I missed it, walking side by side with him. There was the familiar and heartwarming scent, the languid oozing of warmth, and the silent smiles shadowed by lurid sunlight. Somehow there was gauche in the air.

Breaking the silence with small talk only to be interrupted by a shrill squeak. More hugs exchanged and we symphatised him who stood there alone, faking impatience. Perhaps it was my will, or him pulling the invisible bonding silk on my feet, I left them and followed swiftly.

To be back again is good. Normality is what we citizens crave.

With the light blue building in front against the morning sun, our chatter hushed into the fresh vibe of the breaking of day. Our short promenade tasted of milk chocolate, melting gradually in the wind and serene ambience.

The Moment: Butterscotch

Like the fading rays of the sun, sinking into the vermilion horizon: butterscotch and rose.

I've been counting the times we meet each other. Every meeting is an event to be cherished, to be engraved in the fleshy tablet of my heart. Because any of it could be our last.

Of course, he doesn't know and he wouldn't know. Perhaps he won't even care. He sees beyond the purplish sunset into the twilight. His is the furthest star, whilst mine is the constellation of Virgo.

I miss him. And these feelings melt into a poultice of lavender and butter, milk and baby breath. The colour turned from pearl white into a glorious yellow. Emanating a glow, radiant, and ludicrous.

That's me.

The Moment: Like Butterflies

I hugged him tight whilst calculating the seconds we heard each other's heartbeat, and the pressure exerted by his arms on my back.

So many times I folded my arms around his neck, felt the warmth oozing from his masculine physique, imbued with the familiar scent of sweat.

After letting him go, with a smile I said the usual, "Take care."

A wave, some seconds spent on holding each other's eyes, I turn my head.

The smile vanished. Was it artificial? I'm so used to acting I can't distinguish which are my real emotions.

My hand automatically, like a robotic gesture, formed a fist on my chest, where I felt my beating heart. It came like a wall of water, moving so fast from my heart straight to my throat, as if to force me to collapse into shards of glass.

Nothing.

There wasn't the icy sensation gliding down my cheeks like how I anticipated. Still choked at the end of my throat was a pain. So mild I couldn't describe it, so excruciating I couldn't stand it.

Loss. Forlorn.

Empty was a part near the core. And I let it fluttered away, never to return, like butterflies. Their gossamer wings dissolved into the rainbows of my yesterdays, like ashes into the Ganges.

Back to where they belong.