I wrote this as a guestpost for Cultural Inspector . Go over to his blog and show him some love!
“He left me with love. He left me with Christmas toes, petty wishes and eye-lashes on the back of my hand. There are a lot of things I remember about him, and a lot of him I barely know. The first time I saw him, he was a mess. His hair was an adjective I’d use for the first time I had sex – Wild, and strangely nice. His nose was red, and he was sneezing every two minutes. In his hands though, was a cone with two scoops of Belgian Chocolate ice cream. His eyes were dreamy and reminded me of this beach I’ve always wanted to go to. His smile was like watching two drunk people falling in love. His voice reminded me a lot of a voice in my head that I hear only when I go crazy.
I liked how his cute smile was a WiFi network and everyone around him simply connected. I loved how his palms reminded me of a blanket I had when I was ten, but his knuckles were rough like the concrete I fell on when I tried riding a bike for the first time. Everything about him felt like a distant memory, and I was infatuated. It was as if I had stumbled upon a new part of my town and I just had to see the graffiti on the walls, the children on the sidewalks and the gossiping men. He reminded me a lot of a puzzle I tried solving when I was eight.
So, the next time I saw him was the first time I met him. I had a firm handshake planned but he gave me the warmest hug and I was glad cause my palms were sweaty anyway. He knew my name, and the butterflies in my stomach had a few toasts of Vodka for just that. I asked him out, and he said sure. He smiled right after, and I felt a Prusik knot in my throat. I mentally cursed whoever was responsible for handling human emotions, and because I could not speak, I smiled. I remember walking away from him, and as I did, I pulled on my fingers to try to not bounce as I walk. I spent the next few days preparing myself, but he never showed up. Turns out, he was in an accident.
I did not speak for a long time since. How could I with the knot in my throat? When I heard about his death, it was like my heart had been slingshot to my stomach and it had successfully slammed the butterflies against a wall.”
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