I smiled at the photographs in the album, kept in a secret corner of my heart.

High school, it was, young and free and happy. I remembered how he was the only one, thing, face, whatever, that came into my mind when I closed my eyes for rest, or whichever mood I was feeling at: sad, mad, chirpy, loony, quirky, pitied, jealous. He would have been thought, and it always would have made matters a little better than before. We would hang out in the neighbourhoods; fast food joints we were at, imagining of rollerskating waitresses dolled in pink with trays of hot piping food on the palms of their hands.

These hands were roughened by constant household chores, maintaining self-set standards interiorly while the outside world changes in paces with held breaths.

He was awkwardly well-dressed for the evening, and knew I was never one with expensive fine dining. I would have nagged if it was not for our ninth-year anniversary of being two souls together. It was posh; in town; and way out-of-place for a neighbourhood kid within me. The melodies, people, world stopped when he got down on one of his knees by the tableside and took out an obvious ring box to propose. Dumbfounded, some part fear, some part excitement, some part contentment, some part uncertain, I looked on. I looked at him.



One Response to “Souls.16”
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  1. […] May 3, 2009 Filed under: Fictionary, Or Real? — CJ @ 4:56 pm (Continued from Souls.16 […]

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