it was the typical late tuesday night where we ordered chinese and watch the TV screen flickers. the weather is so humid. it’s like we’re a pair of bubble eyed goldfish in a bowl filled with dirty water. but goldfish don’t smoke, bubble eyed or fin tailed. they also don’t jug on energy drinks and laugh at people’s grammar. they don’t read politics, or spend their entire days cursing the economy. they don’t worry about rent or pipe leakage, well maybe they do, but it’s relative fiction anyway, we write what we wanted to believe.
i looked at you from across the room, half asleep under the moonlight. you look like you just returned from a riot. maybe you did. i never asked. you threw your head back on the chair. a line of sweat glistened across your collarbone. i like it when we’re like this. no regard against anything or anyone in the world. it’s like we’re a bunch of kids with too much nervous disposition who ended up breaking down and wears nihilism as their religion. maybe we are. i never dwell too much on those things. to me it only mattered that you are here with me.
i can hear you mumbling about the heat. saying if hell is this sultry you’ll return to church. i laughed and opened the window for you. the cold air surges in along with the buttery smell of a french bakery downstairs. i watch you shift in your seat. a pleasant smile rose as you guess which patisseries they’re preparing for the morning. i ran my fingers through your cheeks. “i think every bits of parisian culture is pretentious.” you said. “yeah, me too.” i don’t even know what pretentious means.
i stare at you as you continue to ramble. my pretty darling, is there a way for me to shield you from the world? in two or three years, i like to believe that things would stay like this. we can leave the city if you want. we can fly to Austria and live the life Billy Joel promised us when he wrote Vienna. i remember you playing it over and over again on the second-hand Yamaha keyboard you bought with your entire life saving. as if ingraining the song into your ears would make the borderline less romantic. you’ve been through so much and i wish for nothing more than a peaceful life for you. away from the wolves, away from the crows.
“it’s okay,” you softly said as we lay on the cramped couch. “you don’t have to save me.” but it’s never about saving and being saved. when you fell in love with someone you are bound to center the entire universe towards their eternal triumph. you are bound to tiptoe in the edge of every cliff, crossing every gate of hell, overthrowing every branch of the government. in another world i would be so much taller and stronger. i’ll build you a house with white picket fence and a garden of petunia. but in this one i am a child with calloused hands, tenderly wiping your sweat when you came home from your afternoon run.
but i like to think that it’s enough. it’s enough that we’re an atomic mess. with the Gods and Goddess humming disregard about our ways in handling things. they deem themselves all knowing, but what do they know about the complexity of love for a mortal human living in mortal world? it’s enough that we’re laying like this, back against back, creating warmth that would soon turn our skin soggy. it’s enough that i care for things you mostly ignore. it’s enough that you’re not afraid of rats and roaches and the police. it’s enough that we can only afford cheap cigarettes and energy drinks. it’s enough that we only read politics and spend our days cursing the economy. it’s enough that we have to worry about rent and pipe leakage. it’s enough. it’s enough.
you’re enough.
we are more than enough.
