The morning is where she lingers, she has her own morning ritual. A way to prepare for the new day. It happens before the world requires anything from her, and that’s when she is most beautiful. It’s true that not many saw her like that, in her most natural form. Yet I can’t say I was the only one. Even though we had each our own beginnings, we shared mornings like this.
She used to tell people that the world was drawn by a dull piece of chalk. That was before me. Now that she sees things my way, everything makes a little more sense. This is me, old Glasses with a pinkish frame which would imply that I lived with her for a considerable amount of time. If I am meant for anything, it is to show her the world. Is that so bad? A quiet morning like many before, cold, comfortable. Comfort can be terribly blinding. The difference in this particular morning is in a call. The phone rings, she picks up, she smiles, for who? I can’t see anymore.
She tells me she wants to be a raindrop, she doesn’t mind falling, as long as she is not alone and raindrops are never alone. She always has a new story to tell me. Today, it’s about being a raindrop.
I wish I could’ve been there, because stories aren’t always enough, and words can only go so far. This is me, an old Phone with a wire connecting its two parts, pinned to a kitchen wall, the same grey color as the wall, yet a bit darker. Sometimes I wonder if she is still talking to me, or if I am just eavesdropping. It used to be every day, sometimes for hours and sometimes just for minutes. Healthy relationships are based on communication, but her words, however sweet and real, sound so distant. Now they flew past me effortlessly as if they were meant for someone else.
She must know what she does to me, her every touch, every time she holds my hand, every time she holds me close. This is me, an Umbrella. A dark body with a brown wooden handle dangling from my designated place and waiting for that sound of rain for me to get going. If you hold my hand I will be yours forever, a simple promise. It’s all I can offer, is it enough? It is maybe too late for me, it is maybe too late.
Anyone can look from a distance. A stranger can look from a distance, what is so special about that? But to know her scent, it means something else. it means we’ve been close, closer than anyone else. I daresay I am lucky, but when she doesn’t want me when she is away, and it’s just her scent with me, I can only feel forgotten. This is me, a Scarf lying motionless on a dashboard of a car, a slight wind entering from a small crack of a window is moving one end of me, giving me a bit of life.
There are those nights, just the two of us when she softly hides in her own thoughts, and only one thing that seems to melt the cold silence, a kiss. This is me, a cold blue coffee mug sitting as I should be along with my kind of mugs, waiting for her to fill me with that warm morning coffee. Ask me what the perfect day tastes like? I’ll say… Her lips. She was my first kiss, it has to mean something. Something certain and true because the taste of a pure kiss can’t be shared. It’s the dreadfully romantic idea there would be only one, the question is: am I the only one? I am afraid the truth will break me, but our kiss is convincing still I am not the only one.
As days went by, the glasses were replaced by contact lenses, for a clearer view, and more proficiency of course. One day, her boyfriend knocked on the door, her hurrying pace to open it slammed the mug, making it fall to the ground and leaving it miserably in pieces. The boyfriend gave her a smartphone as a birthday gift, everyone has one these days, the old wall phone was left hanging in its place as a piece of decoration. The boyfriend is driving her now with his car, no matter how the weather is, she never used an umbrella again.
She always said she wanted to be a raindrop, and today it finally broke me, I was out of her life. She had found her own to fall, her own to fall for. Today, she was a raindrop…
Author: Oussama Aba.
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