what we say in the silence
I could no longer postpone the doom. I tried to buy some time as I walked towards you as slowly as possible, hoping the earth could swallow me right there and then, praying to God to befall me something from the sky and block my way to you. As I approached you, instead of a wave, I raised my brows and let it rest quickly as my form of hello. You nodded slightly, and your gaze fell upon the empty plates before you. I presumed it was a sign to tell me that you had waited long enough to finish all the dishes by yourself — or you were just hungry and couldn’t wait any longer, so you allowed yourself the luxury to eat first. I didn’t know what you meant. You never tried to formulate a sentence to convey what you truly felt or thought, and I hated always demanding an answer, an explanation, so I let you be.
I took a seat in front of you, still keeping my eyes locked on the table, analyzing anything, seeking for something, whatever that could burst this bubble of somewhat chill air suffocating us — suffocating me. I found nothing worth mentioning from the messy table, and you didn’t feel the need to strike up a conversation, so I did. I put up an apologetic smile and asked how long have you waited. You shrugged, a brief answer of some specific time escaped your lips, and then you looked the other way. You weren’t paying attention — not to your surroundings. Not to me. Not to anything. I nodded; I hoped I made it evident that I was trying my best to manage a smile despite this ice-cold “conversation”. Oh my dear God, when I said that just sitting and doing nothing with him meant the world to me, this was obviously not what I meant.
The conversation was going nowhere since you were visibly unwilling to continue anything I had left off, and I despised that you were still enthralling to me as I was stalling. I couldn’t imagine swallowing anything in such an atmosphere; silence among the noise. So I asked if you wanted to grab some dessert, and because you were fairly fond of sweets and everything nice, you haughtily agreed. You said you were getting tired of this place, anyway, and I chuckled. I wonder what started you to feel that way about this place?
Was it because it brought back the memory of our first encounter?
Was it because the waitress knew our names and orders too well?
Was it because our usual seat here was taken by somebody else?
Was it because the walls on which we once wrote silly childhood secrets were painted over?
Was it because the music this place put on repeat took you back to the night when you revealed your nightmares to me?
Or was it because the scent of this place reminded you of when I bore my heart open?
I denied myself the chance to ask further, even when my mind was clouded with question marks. Then, I caught a glimpse of us in the glass door as I led our way toward the exit. Your slender and tall build hovered over me with your eyes locked to the ground, hands in your pocket, and a consistent bored expression on your tiny face, while I looked peculiar with an empty stare and an awkward smile. My shoulder was as stiff as a board; one could even say I had a spiking shoulder pad from how uptight my shoulder was. I forgot how you liked seeing me relaxed back then, yet I guess you didn’t mind seeing me so tensed up around you now.
Once we’re among the moving crowd, you aimlessly walk ahead of me. You didn’t look back, unbothered by the fact that I wasn’t by your side. I thought of calling you because I knew how you would display your mischievous grin as you turned around. You’d extend your arm, motioning me to come closer and wrap your arm around my shoulder. You knew, then, that I would call you in a minute to protest for not having you by my side.
And I was dying to know whether or not you knew that I wouldn’t even dare to dream of calling you now. Because I knew you would just stand there — soulless — dying to end this, dying to end us. That, if you cared.
