She was lucky,
the cafe was hosting just
three couples and an old lady
which meant I had almost
no work to do.
"Has it got sugar?"
"It's as bitter as you taste it, Chiara."
If I were thrashed into the ocean,
smashed by waves bigger than
buildings, hit flat and hard,
each time harder, by the winds,
would it be the same?
If the creatures ate
crumbles of my skin
while I'm still alive,
would it be the same?
If I were attached to a rock
and tried to swim to the surface
while it forced me down,
would it be the same?
If I pressed my body
against the currents
while the waves
sucked me further in,
would it be the same?
Is it the same?
Is it the same desperation and
urge to
touch her, to
feel her,
while her mind wanders far
somewhere else?
"Where did you get my number from?" she spoke after taking a sip
from the cup
and wrinkling her nose.
"You had it written on the first page of your notebook."
as the words left my mouth
her movements went
rigid,
her shoulders,
tense.
a slap of pain
hurt my heart
as i witnessed
her glassy eyes
watering gradually.
"what?" I whispered afraid.
"Did you read it?" She mumbled, choking back her tears, "did you read the pages?" she added, angered.
I laid back on my chair,
confused about her abrupt
unchained emotions.
"Of course not," I furrowed my brows. She knew me so little. "I wouldn't."
And then the waves
rocked me
until I lost
the cardinal points
and I had not a single clue
as to where I stood,
or where I had to go.
YOU ARE READING
I named her Africa #Wattys2015
شِعرI didn't mind if my fingertips were rusted with coffee grounds, or if my palm still hosted bread crumbs, I reached out my hand across the table, and you squeezed it but proved me wrong. My mind was spiraling, my heart, unstable. ____________________...
