the sun kissed smile that melted into a dream




i knew something was wrong the moment i entered the room. it was a bit dark (the light bulb was off…there was only a candle from where he was sitting)  and a pungent smell of cigarettes and alcohol greeted me as soon as i opened the door. cigarette smokes swirled like invisible tiny clouds hurting my eyes and caused a few tears to swell up, a case of beer on the floor, and the soft humming of the beatles on the cassette player -- here, there and everywhere. 


he didn't notice me. he was there, but he was not. he barely moved from his ghostly, statue-like post on the floor. i removed my shoes, my shirt, and my pants. then i grabbed last night's short pants hanging from a nail on a wall right beside my tiny bed.

then i sat on the floor, right across from where he was seated. beer bottles, cigarette butts and a lighted stick between us. finally he saw me and gave me a lukewarm smile. i could not see his face clearly. but i knew he was forlorn, like the grey afternoon sky when i stepped out of the classroom and rushed to my next class in another part of the city.

his bare legs were stretched on the floor. his toes touching my legs. like me, he was wearing only short pants. no shirt. 

even if it rained earlier tonight, it was still hot. the windows were open and the noise from the traffic below and of students looking for a place to hang out on a friday evening invaded the room like unwelcome visitors. the ceiling fan was in full blast, but it was not enough. we were both still sweating.

we didn't mind. we were used to this kind of weather. scorching, even if summer was over four months ago. all that was left of those sweltering days was the memory of a bitter-sweet evening with a gorgeous boy whom you've met one smouldering night at the beach, flirted with you even if he was with his girlfriend. then he let you kiss him on the lips when you were both drunk and high, then ignored you for the rest of the summer. painful, but that was life.

"are you ok?" what else can i say? it was a cliche, a very impersonal greeting that you give anyone, even a stranger who looks grim. but he was not a stranger. he was roy, my roommate. we've known each other since we were freshmen in college. now we were on our senior year. one more semester and we would leave the university, this life, and become someone else. who knows what.

he sighed, inhaled his cigarette, then drank his beer. i thought i won't get an answer. he offered me a bottle of beer, surprisingly still cold. i counted the empty bottles on the case, six. then he spoke in his soft, sleepy voice. the one that said, all is alright. don't worry. 

"nothing. just having a good time. it's friday." there was no arrogance in his voice. he was just like that -- disinterested. he would rather be quiet, read a gabriel garcia marquez or a poetry book, listen to beatles, than make conversations.

i was a bit like him. i love my solitude. i love to think than talk, to read than respond to a question, or listen to music than hear anyone's rants about life. 

in the years that we have stayed together in the same room, inhaled each other's smell, heard each other's sadness and shared each other's joy, we could almost read each others' minds. our moods. our actions without the need for words. 

i could count on my fingers the number of times that we had a long, decent conversation. usually it happened when we were both drunk, high, or just plain tired of life and the people's stupidity. we could talk for hours about anything and everything: love, one hundred years of solitude, the meaning of the lyrics of norwegian wood (did he really burn the girl's flat just because she won't sleep with him?), the brilliance of coppola's apocalypse now.

%%%%%%%%%

but that night he was different. i could sense there was more to his silence, to his sadness, to his sorrow. the room could feel it, even the hot september air that came rushing from outside of the windows. but i did not want to pry. that had always been our silent rule -- no meddling. we waited until the other one opened up. if not, we let it go. we let it pass. we ignored it, even if we could hear one of us sobbing at night, sleepless, counting the minutes as they turned into an hour, and those hours to turn into a new day.

"ok," was all i said and started drinking beer. i had not eaten dinner yet, and i could tell he too was drinking on an empty stomach. he offered me his cigarette rolled into a dirty white paper. i knew what it was. he smiled as i took it from him and brought it to my waiting, eager lips. like him, i also needed the smoke. i was so stressed out from all the requirements for graduation -- the thesis that i had to defend, the projects, the final exams, the incomplete grades.

silence. 

then finally.

"i like this song," i said and started singing: 

"there, running my hands through her hair

both of us thinking how good it can be
someone is speaking, but she doesn't know he's there.."

he joined me.



"i want her everywhere
and if she's beside me i know i need never care
but to love her is to need her
everywhere, 
knowing that love is to share
each one believing that love never dies
watching her eyes and hoping i'm always there
i want her everywhere.."

then we stopped and he raised his bottle and offered a toast.

"to broken hearts and the beautiful girls who rule our world."

i started to laugh. ah, the irony of it. then i repeated what he had just said while raising my bottle of beer and let it touched his. it made a faint sound. 

"have you ever been broken hearted?" he asked right after he put down his bottle on the floor, right next to the ashtray that was now overflowing with cigarette butts. i felt light headed. i felt good. i felt sad. i felt like crying. i felt like jumping for joy. i felt like jumping out of the window and ending all of this. tonight. after graduation, there was nothing to look forward to. 

i was scared of the world outside. what was waiting for me out there? what sort of person would i become? another ambitious young man with stupid dreams -- get a well paying job in a bank or in a multinational firm, preferably with a car plan attached to it, get my own apartment, buy anything that i want, show it all off to friends. let my parents proud.

i dreaded the thought that after slaving for fourteen years in school, i would turn out just like any mindless, dumb asshole that got a well-paying job in a huge company and think that i already owned the world. that thought was just too depressing. so i drank some more beer, ignored his question, and smoked some more pot.

he repeated his question. this time a bit louder. 

"sorry," i said. "i heard you the first time, roy. it's just that my mind is somewhere else."

he ignored what i have just said. "so have you been broken hearted?"

i laughed. i don't know why, but when i am drunk and high, i laugh at everything even if i just want to do the opposite -- cry and cry and cry. let all the sadness that have accumulated in my entire twenty years on earth leave my body. to let it all go. to ease the tensions in my muscles, let my mind breathe, my heart expand a little. open the damned dam and let all the water leave so that there was nothing more inside but a comforting emptiness. 

but will i still be the same person once i poured them all out? that was one question that i was too afraid to confront. ironically, i was happy the way i was -- sad and depressed most of the time. roy was different. though he was quiet all the time, preferred his solitude, he had this sunny disposition about everything. he was ever the optimistic and believed that after a rain, there would be sunshine. that nothing lasts forever, and all those cliches that made hallmark cards and oprah very popular.

"so many times. i could no longer count them. what about you?"

he looked at me with another question in his eyes. "how many times?"

"let's see." then i kept quiet and started counting my fingers. then the cigarette butts on the ashtray. the empty bottles on the case. 

roy laughed.

"see?" i said. "sometimes i even wonder if i still have a heart. it's been broken and torn to pieces so many times that at times i think it has stopped beating. that i am already dead and this person, or this empty shell in front of you is just an imitation of who i was, of who i was before i discovered the pain and the pleasure of falling in love."

"wow!" he shouted. "just wow! i always knew that you were a poet and a philosopher, but i never realised how deep you are."

hahahahaha. we both laughed and roy opened more beer and we kept on drinking. he lit more cigarettes and we kept on smoking.

then it started to rain, followed by strong winds as though there was a typhoon, sending curtains swaying, reaching out to us. the rain entered the room, and even if we were caught by surprise, we managed to stand up, close the windows. then once it was done, we sat down and started laughing again.

when we have recovered, it was my turn to ask roy.

"what about you? have you ever been broken hearted? how many times?"

i was expecting that he would ignore my question. but he gave a curt reply. "once."

"when?"

"this afternoon."

"who?"

"darlene."

"the darlene from our class?" (roy, darlene and i were block mates since first year college.)

"yes."

"wow! i did't know that you two were..."

"she wanted to keep it a secret."

"why?"

"why?! don't be ridiculous darryl. she is the darlene of the bsba class of 1989. always on top of the dean's list. the prettiest girl. the only daughter of a family of shipping merchants. while i...." his voice trailed off. as though he was about to cry. "what am i, darryl? just another moron who can hardly pass our subjects. if not for your help, i might have flunked all my subjects. i might have been kicked out of the university a long time ago."

"don't be silly. you're roy. the best looking guy in the whole campus. tall, tan, lean. who looks like tom cruise, especially when he is wearing his raybans, tight fitting levis, black long-sleeve shirt, and his hair held together by a bottle of gel. the roy who can melt a girl's heart with his bedimpled smile. the roy who excels in history, philosophy, literature and arts. the poet, the editor of the carolinian, the....."

i stopped, before i became too obvious. i suddenly realised that if i went on, i might say some things that i might regret later on. things that might offend him. with roy, i had always to be mindful of what i was saying, of what i was doing because i was afraid he might misinterpret them.

it was difficult. it was like walking on a thin ice. you could fall anytime and drown in the freezing waters underneath its blinding whiteness.

"oh stop it. you know they don't count. in the world of the darlenes...if you are not chinese, if you are not rich, if you are not on top of the class, you are nothing."

"what happened? how long you two been together? why didn't you tell me? was she the one who kept on calling late at night?"

i didn't know if i was starting to irritate roy. he usually hate it when i asked him so many questions. especially very personal ones. but tonight, roy was full of surprises. he actually wanted to talk, and i loved listening to him. to the way he spoke. malambing was how we called it in the vernacular. very romantic.

"ah darryl. questions. questions. stop being a lawyer this time, ok? i know you will make a good lawyer someday, but right now, i just want to get drunk, get high, and forget all about her and her bullshit, fucking world."

i nodded my head and offered a toast:

"to darlene and her bullshit, fucking world."

more beer. we were no longer aware what time it was. if the rain had stopped. how many bottles of beer we had emptied. how many pots we had smoked.

we talked and talked. even if roy said he didn't want to talk about darlene anymore, he kept on mentioning her. he kept on telling me how much they loved each other. their plans after graduation. when they wanted to get married. how many children they would have. 

at some point, he was crying and calling out her name. just like in a movie. this was around two or three or four in the morning. i really didn't know. i was too dizzy, too drunk. everything was cloudy. hazy. but i knew he was crying. it was the first time that i heard him cry. i let him.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%

i woke up with the music from the cassette player.

"i will be there, and everywhere
here, there and everywhere.."

it was dark. roy must have turned the light off. i stood up, still groggy, groped for the switch. when the light was on, i saw him asleep on the floor. surrounded by empty bottles and cigarette butts. he was sleeping on his side. i went to the toilet which was outside of the room. down the dark and quiet hallway. i passed by several rooms. all dark and quiet. it had stopped raining.

the entire dormitory was wrapped in darkness. as though we were inside a mother's womb. in a way, we were still babies -- still finding our way out of the confines of the university.

when i came back, i sat on the floor next to where roy was sleeping. i decided to get a pillow from his bed and put it under his head. very carefully because i did not want to wake him  up. i covered his body with a blanket. then i switched off the light and went to sleep on my bed.

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

when i woke up the next day, i was alone. the room was neat and clean. that was one thing i liked about roy. he was a neat freak. just like me. for us, everything had to be shiny and clean. things in their proper places. nothing in disarray. ours was the only room in the dorm with a trash bin and the windows were covered with curtains. 

there were no empty bottles or cigarette butts. the ashtray had been cleaned and was on top of the study table that roy and i shared. the windows were still closed, and the whole room still reeked of beer and cigarette smoke. my head was aching, and i felt so thirsty.

i looked at the clock on top of the table, which stood between roy's and mine's narrow and small beds that could hardly fit our bodies. 3:00, the time said. i didn't know if it was three in the afternoon or three in the morning. it was dark outside and when i opened a window, it was raining heavily. a cold wind entered the room, turning the pages of the books on top of the table, and sending some papers flying into the other end of the room and finally on the floor. i quickly shut it off, my hands getting wet.

i was hungry. no, i was famished. but i didn't have an appetite. i wasn't craving for food. i was just thirsty. so i opened the mini ref that roy owned and drank from a pitcher. we never used a glass. it felt good. thirst quenched, i laid on my bed again. hoping to get more sleep. but sleep was now elusive. 

i tried to masturbate but i wasn't in the mood. it usually helped me go to sleep. so i stood up and decided to play music. i scanned the cassette tapes on top of roy's bed (like the ref, he also owned the cassette player, the tapes, the guitar that was hanging on the door, the posters of the beatles and of john lennon on the walls). 

"oh my love for the first time in my life
my eyes are wide open
oh my lover for the first time in my life
my eyes can see
i see the wind
oh, i see the trees
everything is clear in my heart
i see the clouds
oh, i see the sky
everything is clear in our world.."

john lennon's soothing voice filled the room. i liked this song. the lyrics were simple, but very heartfelt and in a way, deep. i loved beatles. the first time i heard one of their songs -- yellow submarine -- that my older brother played on our stereo, i was mesmerised. i was still in the elementary then, he was already in college. the long playing album was new. he brought it home from manila where he was studying at the university of the philippines. 

my brother, saint, was then a freshman at the university. he was home for the christmas holidays. despite our wide age gap, we were close. we were the only boys in a family of six. he was the eldest, i was the youngest. between us were four girls. i liked him because he treated me like an adult, unlike my parents and four older sisters who kept on babying me. my mother especially. at eight, she still insisted on letting me wear pajamas at night and putting on baby powder before i went to bed.

but saint was different. he talked to me about politics, about the tyranny of the marcos regime, the disappearance of his classmates at the university. he was always agitated every time he talked about politics.  i didn't know why.


during that time, saint had become a different person. he no longer wanted to hear mass, he no longer ate meat, he no longer watched soaps on tv. all he did the whole day was read books by karl marx, friedrich engels and other writers who advocated communism. he encouraged me to read them too. or he would talk about them to me. explain to me, for example, the theory of a classless society, where nobody owned anything, and all the country's resources belonged to the state. 

every time i heard the beatles, especially this song, i could not help but remember him. saint. his tragic death in the hands of the metrocom.

his new-found philosophy, his beliefs about communism and his hatred of the military became a source of disagreement between him and our father -- a military official. they too bothered me. 

our mother, the pliant military wife, was also mad at him because he no longer wanted to join us hear the mass at dawn (the traditional nine days of novena before christmas), which we all attended because as the chief of the military camp, father, a general, was expected to be there with his entire family in attendance, sitting at the front row and listening to the priest. as though the mass won't be complete without him there, without us all in attendance like obedient children.

saint no longer wanted any of it -- the bourgeois lifestyle as he called it. my father's fascistic way of running our household, which he treated like an extension of his office.


he refused to accept the christmas gifts that we gave him. he refused to wear the new pair of jeans, shoes, lacoste shirts and jackets that mother bought him. he used to love them. he was very fashionable before he went to college.

"what's wrong with going to church?" i asked him one time, when we were at the beach. baking under the sun. both shirtless and wearing only short pants. saint loved the beach. it was his only source of recreation, a break, a way to escape our father's rigid rules while at home on a break from the university.

"because it's useless. there is no god. we all had been fed with the wrong ideas about god, christianity and a christ who died for all of us. who redeemed our sins by dying on the cross. you see, religion was the most powerful tool used by the spaniards to colonise us for hundreds of years. they used the idea of hell to put fear on our hearts to make us obedient and meek as lambs. they introduced heaven to reward the meek, those victims of injustice, so they won't fight back. they won't get the idea of fighting the colonizers because heaven would wait for us in the afterlife."

at that time, i was confused. i was also afraid for him. because i knew that what he was saying was blasphemous and he could go to hell for that. i was also afraid that father might disown him, throw him out of the house if he learned what he had become. what he had been talking about ("there is no god"). what he had been reading.

indeed, a few months in the state university in diliman had changed my brother. he was no longer the shy, bookish, church-going boy we all knew. in fact, he didn't want us to call him saint anymore. just juan. we didn't know where it all came from. he was christened juacinto, and we all called him saint, not only because it was easier, but also because he was so religious. he wanted to be a priest when he was a young boy. the name aptly described him.


when he was about to leave the house and go back to the university the day after the new year, i saw him embracing mother tightly. then he shook father's hand. i knew he wanted to embrace him as well, but he hesitated. father did not tolerate any show of emotions, much less kissing and embracing in the family. 


i saw the sadness on his face when he stepped inside the military jeep that would take him to the airport in tacloban. i wanted to ride with him, be with him for a few more hours. but father said that the trip would take so long (six hours instead of the usual three) because some roads were being repaired. it was dusty and the trip might trigger my asthma. 

so i ran to my room and cried. i didn't know why i felt so sad when saint left that morning. maybe part of me was already mourning for the old saint that we all loved and who was now gone. maybe i already knew then that it would be the last time i would see him.


when mother received the telegram from her younger sister who lived in manila informing us that saint was killed by the metrocom during a rally that turned violent, she fainted. 


when father heard about it, he didn't say a word. he merely went inside their bedroom, started packing his and mother's clothes for a trip to manila. to bring home their eldest son's lifeless body.

since saint died, our home had been enveloped by this unseen gloom. mother had stopped talking for several months. she blamed herself for his death. father drank almost every night. he was angry that the same institution that he had served all his life killed his son like an animal, left to die on the cold pavement and his bullet-riddled body covered with newspapers. there was blood all over.


$$$$$$$$$$$


i sat on my bed and started to cry. until now, twelve years after, i still missed him. i still felt bad that i did not tell my parents about his new ideas and ideals. maybe they could have done something to prevent his death. maybe they could have transferred him from the state university to a private school in cebu, or in tacloban. if i did that, maybe he was still alive today, working in a bank, raising his own family. i wouldn't mind if he became one of those proud assholes with a nice house, a car, a well-paying job. spoiled children.


mainly, i was mad at him for depriving me of a brother and a friend. more so for turning our once happy home into a funeral parlour.

after he died, my parents were no longer the same. mother was always in the church, praying. she hardly even talked to us. father had become even more strict. he forbade me to study at the state university, forbade me from taking the entrance exam, lest i become another saint. another casualty in the government's war against the spread of communism. in schools!


i was still crying, my face covered with a pillow, and lost in thoughts that i did not hear roy arrived. when i removed the pillow, i saw roy with a puzzled expression on his face, staring at me. but he was quiet. he did not ask a question when i rose from bed and dried my tears with a towel.


he remained quiet when i stood up to get a cigarette from the side pocket of my jeans hanging on a nail on the door, next to his guitar. i could no longer endure the silence. 

"where have you been?" i asked, unable to think of something else to say. i stood near the window and stared outside. all i could see was the rooftop of the house across our dorm. branches of trees. students on the streets, the busy traffic. it was saturday and everyone had this weekend look on their faces, dressed in shirts, shorts, flipflops, blouses, skirts, sandals.


"gaisano. had a few bottles." he was red. drunk?


then he stood up and reached for his guitar. he sat down on his bed and started singing jealous guy. i sat down on my bed too, and just looked at him and listened to him sing. i always loved it when roy sang and played the guitar at the same time. he looked like a movie star, a famous one, on german moreno's gma supershow. i could not remember the actor's name.


"i was dreaming of the past


and my heart was beating fast

i began to lose control

i began to lose control

i didn't mean to hurt you

i'm sorry that i made you cry

oh my, i didn't want to hurt you

i'm just a jealous guy..."

then he stopped. stood up. opened the ref and took two bottles of beer. opened them and offered one to me. then he sat on the floor, guitar on hand, and asked me to join him. i obliged and sat beside him. 


now i was feeling better. though my stomach started rumbling, i ignored it. i remembered that i haven't eaten anything since last night. but i would survive another day without food as long as i was with roy. close to him.

being with roy, hearing him sing, was enough. there was nothing else i needed. i always liked him. more than a friend, more than a brother. roy was my first real love. since i first saw him, four years ago, shy, a bit scared, unpacking his clothes and guitar when i entered the room, i knew that i was in love with him. 




he was not only handsome, he was nice, caring, passionate, intelligent, talented, a good singer and guitar player.

"feeling better?" he asked, then put down the guitar.


i blushed. "yes."


"why?"


"was i crying, you mean?"


"yes."


"nothing. i suddenly remembered my brother. how short his life was."


"ah saint. yes. sad."


"and you?"


"still broken hearted. i called darlene when i woke up at around one, but the maid said she was not home. but i knew she was there. she usually stayed at home on saturdays to do her assignments, or just hang out with her sisters."


"is she your first love?'


"yes."


"what is it about her?"


he laughed. wiping another newly opened beer with his shirt. "don't be ridiculous. everyone's in love with darlene. even you."


i smiled.


"aren't you?" he asked.


"no."


"really?!"


"no."


"why not? i thought you like her. you were always with her. everywhere. i was always jealous about you two."


i smiled.


"sorry. you're wrong. we're just friends."


"did she ever talk about me?"


"only that she likes you. that you were her crush since we were freshmen. but she never told me that you were together. when did it happen?"


"two months ago. remember we had a party at joan's? i was already drunk when i saw her alone standing at the gate, waiting for her driver. i started talking to her, and we had this nice conversation. she told me that it was the first time that i ever i talked to her. i told her that i was intimidated by her. that every time i tried to talk to her, i would clam up and get nervous."


i remembered that night. i imagined them talking at the gate, under those giant trees. joan's house was full of trees. there was a slight drizzle that night, a thin as a lemon slice moon. i imagined darlene opening her umbrella and roy quickly taking it from her hand. then they talked while it was drizzling, under a tiny moon. sharing an umbrella. a bit cold, a bit sad, but they were both warm and happy. their faces blushing, their hands shaking, their souls quivering.

"she told me the same thing when we were still freshmen. she always wanted to talk to you, roy, but she could  not find the courage. she was intimated by your intelligence, your eloquence when debating with our professors, and your movie star looks."


"yes, she told me about it."


"sweet."


then he started asking me questions. "what about you? who do you like at school?"


"nobody."


"ow....somehow i find it hard to believe. joan? lilibeth? anna? cherryl? divina? angelu?"


"none of the above."


"christina? angeline? reynalda?"


"stop it. hahahaha."


"then who? come on, we are graduating next semester. no need to be secretive."


"nobody you know."


when he realised that i wasn't going to tell him, roy reached again for his guitar and started singing love is real. 


"love is real, real is love

love is feeling, feeling love
love is wanting to be loved.."

i just stared at him. at his face. at his eyes that were focused on his fingers on the guitar. i liked the way his hair fell on his face and covered his eyes. i wish i had a camera then so i could capture that moment. roy at his most vulnerable, at his saddest state and he tried to forget all about it by playing one of his favourite songs. my favourite song too. 


and he knew it. if there was one thing that we always talked about, it was the beatles. on my 20th birthday, he gave me a shirt printed with the faces of the beatles. before that, the posters that covered the walls of our bedroom.


"love is touch, touch is love

love is reaching, reaching love
love is asking to be loved."

then i started crying again. i wanted to stop the tears, to hide them, but there was no way that i could do that. roy stopped. he rushed to my side and put his arm on my shoulders.


"what's wrong?"


"nothing." i was shaking my head like a wet cat that was shaking all the water off from its feathers. "don't mind me."


"come on. i am your friend. you can tell me."


then he put his hand on my face, on my chin and lifted up my face. his face was so close to me i could feel the heat from his already drunk body. 
i could almost swallow the beer and cigarette smoke in his breath. god i loved him.

"roy..."


"shhhhh...."


then he kissed me. long, passionate, tender. it wasn't the first time that i kissed a guy, of course. but it was the first time that i kissed someone i love. my first love at that. my heart was beating so fast, i thought i would die of a heart attack. i was no longer drunk, or sad, or confused. 


but i was bewildered. lost. i could not even remember where i was. if i were still alive. if this was all a dream. if this was really happening. roy and i...

i silenced my mind. 

roy did not say a word. he just kept on kissing me. then he pulled away and removed his shirt. i did the same. then he kissed me again on the mouth. then on my neck. then on my nipples. i could not explain what i was feeling. i felt like i just smoked pot, but better. i felt lightheaded, floating into thin air. 

our hands were busy. before we knew it, we were both naked on the floor.


@@@@@@@@@


"love is you

you and me
love is knowing
we can be

love is free, free is love

love is living, living love
love is needing to be loved.."

when it was all over, he stood up, took the towel from his bed, wrapped it around his naked waist, and went to the bathroom. he was in a hurry. he was quiet. he did not even look at me. i was left wondering, confused again, then scared. what just happened? did he know that i was in love with him? how? why? was i always that obvious?



i've always imagined my first time to be sweet, tender and full of romance. i grew up reading my older sisters' sweet dreams romance novels. i watched audrey hepburn fell in love in roman holiday. barbra streisand sang sad love songs to robert redford in the way we were. snooky serna eloping with gabby concepcion in hello young lovers, or running away from albert martinez in bata pa si sabel.


i never thought my first time would be like this: sad and full of guilt. the man i love was cold, distant, scared after having sex. both of us, actually. as though we regretted the whole thing. as though somebody took over our bodies while we were doing it, and then when it was over, they left us and we were ourselves again. could not face the horror of it.

maybe that was what happened to roy. a spirit took possession of his body and made love to me. then it left him and roy realised what just happened and he was clothed in shame. in disgust. in guilt. what happened was wrong, and sinful.

so he ran away. as fast as he can. away from me.


when he came back, the room was filled with the smell of soap, shampoo and toothpaste. i was in bed. fully dressed. lying on my side, facing the wall. i pretended to be asleep. i heard him put on his pants. sprayed perfume. then he opened the cabinet and i knew he took out a shirt and put it on too. then his socks. then his shoes. then i heard the door opened and closed. 

then his footsteps in the hallway. fading..fading...until only the silence was my companion and the gathering darkness in my soul.

"and when i awoke i was alone
this bird had flown
so i lit a fire
isn't it good norwegian wood?"

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