Meet me in the hallway down the staircase, with the flickering light bulb above us. Remember the old storeroom with plain walls and boxes full of CDs stashed in the back? We'll push them out and clean inches deep of dust settled in and brand it ours.
There isn't a window, but I'll build you one. And we can hang a white, translucent curtain, your favourite. We'll spread out a blanket and sit cross-legged, facing each other. The room is empty, the walls bare. Perhaps, someday we'll paint them your favourite colour. What is your favourite colour? It's not that I don't know, it's because it changes for you time to time, doesn't it? Last time I heard it was black, but you've been praising everything turquoise for a while now. I wonder if turquoise it is. I can't know you enough, asking a question once doesn't mean I can't ask you again. I can. In fact, I love to. You give different answers, you like to evolve. You like to modify. Did I tell you I like your differing views?
We know I like it simple, so we won't rush the room with unnecessary furniture that only serves to injure our little toes. But let's bring everything we love, we'll make it our little home. You can bring in all your music and I'll bring in you; the entirety of you.
We don't need lights in here. We have the flickering light bulb of the hallway. I don't have to look at you constantly to know you're here. Our connection is deeper than that, I feel you, I see you, even in the dark, even in the light. The flicker of the light bulb is a little longer than a blink of an eye. Enough to take my breath away, tensing my muscles that you might be gone. Enough to bring me back all the air and my head to drop in gratitude when my eyes meet yours. It soars me high up in the sky skipping on toes, and brings me back to my heels in gratefulness.
We can play our favourite game while the wind blows your hair in your face. I tell you the rules like every time; we tell lies till ten minutes and you giggle as usual tucking the hair behind your ears. It thrills you, the very idea of doing something forbidden, something wrong and the taste of lies left on your tongue has started to become your favourite treat of the day. I tilt my head and smile, we deserve the treat after living our life so carefully everyday.
My heartbeat quickens, I'm counting down the minutes. I have something exciting planned for today, it's hard to keep my heart rate at bay. A laughter erupts from my chest at the outrageous stories you cook up especially for this ten-minute game. Your eyes glint, creasing at the corner while mine are a little unfocused today. You fold your legs back under you, we know you can't sit cross-legged for long, it makes your hip hurt. I am shifting in my seat, contemplating. Is this the right decision? Will you follow my hint and pave the path? Or will I leave you scarred, confused and questioning yourself? You have too much pride to ask me. We pledged to never discuss the lies afterwards. It is what gives us the most freedom, we can say what we like, but the other won't question it. Ever.
I'm counting the flickers of the light bulb. It takes twenty three bouts of darkness to complete our ten minute game. Do you count those too?
Twenty two.
"Your turn." You nudge my knee. Twenty three.
"I love you."
And the light bulb flickers for the twenty fourth time, the clock completing its eleventh minute.
