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billie and jean

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billie and jean 



jean
it's been nine months since billie passed away, but the one-bedroom apartment that we have shared together remained alive with his memory. 
he was there wherever your eyes could reach and rest, the distance kept short by the memory of his rare, melancholic smiles; he was always sad. he was there in the shadow, perhaps hiding behind the silk curtains with little floral patterns, plotting about what to do with the past and how to solve the future; he was a mystery. he was there in the tiny kitchen, staring absent-mindedly at the crowded shelf right above the sink and the faucet mentally arranging with the precision of a general preparing to go into a battle the bottles of wine, vinegar, soy sauce, fish sauce. he hated the mess.
this morning, while i was cleaning the bathroom, a task i had been putting off since billie was buried, i found his favourite book in the laundry basket -- one hundred years of solitude. dirty white, almost brown, creased like an old maid’s …