Remains of a recollection

In a year, I will forget the light banter we had over drinks one December night. The air was heavy with unfulfilled hopes of the year and we were all but pouring our hearts out. Lights sporadically lined the deserted alleyway that guided our tipsy selves to a waiting cab. Your eyes were sparkling and I suspect it was an effect of alcohol (on you as much as on me), although in a year’s time, it won’t make a difference why you looked divine that night.

In three years, I will forget the way you stood with your arms crossed, back towards me, during the umpteenth time we quarrelled. It was the posture of defense and as much as I wanted to berate you for being so unmovingly stubborn, I recognized so much of myself in your stance. So I bit my tongue to prevent myself from uttering words I would regret. It was a Monday night and we were drained from societal and familial obligations.

In five years, I will forget the way you breathed, in-out in-out, one hot Sunday afternoon as you lay sleeping in my bed. The fan blew warm air and as you shifted in your sleep, I thought, it is true what they say: you rarely realise how much you love someone until you see them asleep. Vulnerability makes you fall in love. It is unnerving that the magic in this tranquility will one day slip from my memory.

In ten years, I will forget the night you used chopsticks to help me grab a piece of dim sum from the adjacent plate, or the way you slurred the words ‘I miss you’ before you fell asleep in my arms the first night we went out partying, or the pause your fingers make before the brush back my hair, or the way you knit your eyebrows together when you’re trying to remember a particularly catchy lyric, or the mountain of other minute things that time has no patience for and almost always removes completely from consciousness.

But today, today I will remember. It is fragile and it is beautiful and it is all that matters.

(Source: graceyeoh)