a man stood in his small, cramped studio apartment right at the very edge of brooklyn
it’s quiet is all his mind musters
the roar of traffic, rumble of engines and the odd yell of a pedestrian or driver is all still very much prevalent. the laughs of teenagers rushing along the sidewalks with their friends, the car alarms blaring.
he tunes it out and focuses his attention back onto folding his shirt. this one old and the colour faded, the threads hanging. he’d outgrown it. he stares down, before shoving it into the duffel.
the creak of the floorboard turns his head. his girlfriend stands there, her eyes puffy and lip bloodied from her insistent chewing. she wears his university sweatshirt, having borrowed (stolen) it long ago. he lets her have it.
because when the bank accounts drained and the cupboards are bare, what does he have left to give?
except he’s already given all he can. he loves her like she’s his last breath of oxygen before death. the first breath of air after drowning. the virus and the cure. the poison and the antidote.
his brother would forever be more poetic she is my doing and my undoing. his beginning and his end.
so when she cries it cracks his heart.
she stands in the doorway, her arms wrapping around her chest, looking at him through misty lenses.
they’ve had this conversation before.
the fears, the tears. everything.
they have no other option, there’s nothing.
her breath hitched “i know.”
“you’re not acting like it.”
he sighs, putting his shirts down. he grasps her wrist and pulls her gently onto the mattress on the floor. she curls slightly, her scraped knees drawn into her chest.
“remember our promise?” he murmured.
she hums, burrowing into his chest, tucking her head under his chin.
they fit like puzzle pieces.
“a big house with a big yard and surrounded with field.”
“a garden with your favourite flowers. chickens, so we don’t buy eggs. maybe a cow or two. a wrap around porch to sit and watch the sunset.”
“a big fireplace that we drink hot chocolate by in the winter.” she says.
“a library” he continues “with all the books you can read.”
“a letterbox with our names on it.”
she leans into him and he breathes her in. lavender.
even if he was blind he could probably recognise her by that smell alone.
he’d feel for the soft skin of her cheek, the wispy curls of her hair, the rasp in her voice when she woke up.
“you forgot something.” her voice is low, almost drowned over by the noises of the city.
“the pattering of little feet.” she adds
“huh?” his eyebrows knit together “like a dog?
“mhm. something like that.” she replies, and he feels something in her voice that’s like she’s revealing something hidden. a treasury of secrets almost. without another thought, she takes his arm and pulls it around her stomach.
something flutters in his chest. something unusual.
he blinks, twice. then looks at her, her angelic features even more gorgeous in the light of dusk. he lifts her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckle.
“one day” his voice cracks “i’m going to get you that house. those flowers. those books. i’m going to take care of you and we’ll never have to worry about food or money.”
he leaves that unsaid, but he’s never meant anything more.
the sun’s lowering now and they turn to watch it.
all he can picture is her brown doe eyes and his chubby bright cheeks. he pictures tying shoe laces and sports practice and tiny shoes by the door of house he’s going to build her.
they watch the sun shift over it’s horizon. setting over the city, once the city of their dreams.
now all they have is their dusty apartment, their luggage, a little secret in their hearts and two plane tickets with their names on it.
and for today, that’s enough.
gummygunk
kianamaiart
andulkaphoto
