Exile

I trudged down the sidewalk, squinting at the strong sunlight blazing down the streets. It was a typical Sunday afternoon with not many people in sight. I let out a weary sigh and went home, throwing the bouquet of roses I bought into a trash can along the way.

The memory for the past twenty minutes burned in the back of my mind. I was at the hallway of your apartment, waiting for you to come out, to ask for another chance for us to get back together. Looking in hindsight I might be asking too much, after all long ago you gave me a second chance, then a third, perhaps this may be the hundredth chance that I'm asking.

You did come out, but with another stranger, who wrapped his arms around you. He must have told you a joke because you started laughing, as I stood there heartbroken.

It took you five whole minutes to notice me, and for me to notice the luggage behind you. And you pretended that we were strangers, and hastily left the place with your things while I just stared at you, desperately wishing to talk to you one last time.

What a shame that I couldn't manage to hand the roses to you, you would have liked them, maybe your face would've light up as you saw those bouquets, like you did on our first date.

I spent the night watching movies and drink some beer. And it was until my second bottle when I began watching the family videos that we filmed when we were still together. You used to like watching them, and I regret never watching it with you.

I have to admit, those videos reminded me how happy we used to be, and I didn't like the ending to this relationship.

I saw you at the hallway this afternoon, staring at me, staring at Kelvin like he's just your understudy, a person I took in without thought because I needed someone to replace you.

In that moment I saw your gaze harden, like in any second you'll get your knuckles bloody. I wonder if you were angry that I was happy with someone other than you? Or did you saw that I was uncomfortable by his touch?

I doubt that it is the latter, because then you would have known that I don't always like being touched after all the things my father did to me. There are so many things that I wonder why you couldn't know earlier. Like why couldn't you find out that I have trouble sleeping, and watching soccer at midnight will make it worse? And why couldn't you know earlier that you always parked your car too close to mine, until I have to get into the driver's seat from the other side?

I quickly left, before my emotions became too much to handle. And now I wonder did you notice that I had looked into your eyes at the very last moment, standing there like a little boy, with lots of love but no one to give to.

I saw your depressed eyes, and honestly, they add insult to my injuries.  I am supposed to be the one who's disappointed and hurt, but now it looks like you are the victim. 

I met your friend at the market a few days ago, who gave me an awkward stare before walking away, which had always happened when we had fights. I never liked that you'll tell your friends all the problems we had, as they'll act like I have offended them.

But you're not my problem anymore, so who am I offending now?

It has been forty-seven days since our divorce, and I was still wondering why we always walked a very thin line. I remember that the fights began three months after our wedding, I said the wrong thing about your friend, and you wouldn't talk to me for a day. I thought it will get better with time, but it didn't.

The fights got more frequent, and harsher, and more unpredictable. Sometimes we'll wake up in the morning but you'd give me a sour face, and ignored me for the whole morning. Sometimes you'll just give me an annoyed sigh when I made you the herbal soups Wong thought me. And I remember that one time I woke up early to make breakfast for you, but you straight away throw it into the trash.