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Wonder; / ˈwəndər/ [v.]

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You make me wonder at times.

It was after sex, when there was still heat and mostly breathing, when there was still touch and mostly thought . . .it was as if the whole world could be reduced to the sound of a single string being played, and the only thing this sound could make me think of was you. Sometimes desire is air;sometimes desire is liquid. And every now and then, when everything else is air and liquid, desire solidifies, and the body is the magnet that draws its weight.

It was my unfaithfulness was as unthinking as your lapse. Of all the things I thought would go wrong, I never thought it would be that. I've kissed her once, it was drunk night and you are miles away. I didn't know how Simone could get in the men's bathroom because I'm sure I've locked. I missed you a lot, and I know that's no excuse for that. "It was a mistake," you said , a faint smile appear on your face, but I know you're upset. But the cruel thing was, it felt like the mistake was yours, for trusting me.

It was the time you talked to me over our dinner. "I love the vagueness of words that involve time." You said, moving around to find the cockscrew for our wine which I'm sure is in our drawer but it seemed like you had redecorated the house.

"It took you awhile to come back - it could be a matter of minutes or hours, days or years. It is easy for me to say it-took me awhile to know. That is about as accurate as I can get. There were sneak previews of knowing, for sure. Instances that made me feel, oh, this could be right. But the moment I shifted from a hope that needed to be proven to a certainty that would be continually challenged? There's no pinpointing that. Perhaps it never happened. Perhaps it happened while I was asleep. Most likely, there's no signal event. There's just the steady accumulation of awhile."

You returned back with the opened bottle and I stared you in awed. I didn't know what possessed but I immediately kissed you. I couldn't let the chance go.

It was that moment at the beginning when you wonder whether you're in love with the person or in love with the feeling of love itself. If the moment doesn't pass, that's it -- you're done. And if the moment does pass, it never goes that far. It stands in the distance, ready for whenever you want it back. Sometimes it's even there when you thought you were searching for something else, like an escape route, or your lover's face.

This is dedicated to your best friend (I'm not saying who.)

Please stop talking about your sister's pregnancy (and try to ask us subtlely whether we are using any bcp or condoms.) And please stop showing up late to dinners. And please stop asking my lover to drinks when I'm home. And please stop humming while you type.

You're getting tired of telling it and I'm getting tired of hearing about it.

Also, I am very careful whenever I know I'm on the phone with your father. I know you'll come to me eventually, and we'll talk you through it. But I have to wait - you need your time.

In the meantime, I'm careful what songs I play. I try to speak to you with my selections.

Sometimes I don't get your taste of clothing.

I'm not saying it's ugly or anything but it's weird occasionally because the way you mash up the colour is just different. But then when I see someone else did the same I get all mad because that's your style. Nobody should be wearing the same as my girl. Or maybe I just don't like the idea of seeing images of you around when I know you're miles away.

Sometimes wondering scared me. What if whatever we built fall apart, what if whatever we dreamt off disappear, what if you and I faied to exist. What ifs.

And nobody believes when I say you would be the death of me.

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