The Belletrist

8. Sir and Madame

Dear Sir,

The texting saga continued. Next thing I knew, we call each other Sir and Madame. I couldn't remember how we arrived to that but we ended up having a term of endearment, if I can even call it that. Nevertheless, it felt special to me that I can call you Sir. Me alone among your friends. I felt special to you in some ways. And of course, you are very special to me even if you don't call me Madame.

To this day, you still call me that and now I wonder if you really know my name by heart. It felt like you call me it because you don't remember my name, or your mind got used to it, it meant nothing. Perhaps it meant nothing. Like, I want to hear you call me by my name. Did it feel something to you? Did your heart shake like I probably would if I call you by your name?

And I remember one more. I brought you food on a lunch time on an August day. You met me halfway before I could turn to the street that leads to my house. You thanked me shyly, just like the nice guy you are. I was shy too but I was smiling, in the hopes of not making it awkward or anything. I was brave that way.

I was young then. Giddy about things like those. I would probably still be giddy if that happens once again. If.

Now, we're miles and islands apart. And I still don't see any sign that we are for each other. How many more years do I have to count? How many more years do I have to wait 'till I could call you mine, Sir?

Love,

Rosie.