Marco left a note on the table at the kitchen isle on the morning he decided to leave. It was a simple "Thanks, Goodbye. You take care" on a piece of stick-it note that I always keep on top of the fridge.
It was Monday. A usual Monday. My Monday means get up early, take my bath and off to work. His Monday means wake up late (usually at noon when the sun is pretty unbearable), wrap a towel around his waist and go skin dipping in the open ocean. He was as tanned as any other Malay guy by the second week he was here.
His lunch equals to our last night dinner. Because I didn't usually dine out, and he didn't eat take home food, so home cooking was the last option.
"I love your asam pedas"
"Damn your gulai lemak nenas kicks butt"
"Please make more laksa tomorrow"
"Zee, I miss pasta"
His appetite never seemed to shrink since Tiff left him. All help and hopes were engulfed in a huge plate of steamed fragrance rice with a super huge mackerel, and a dollop of sambal belacan. I didn't know turning someone white to brown was that easy. What seemed left was his friendship with me, and that, sat on a thin line as well.
We talked a lot at home. His journey from one end to another. Things that he found while strolling the beach. People that he talked while looking at the darkening evening. The butterfly he gotten in his belly when he thought of Tiffany.
Perhaps leaving this place is the best he can do right now. I won't be able to drop him a call, or say hi to him via skype. He doesn't even have a facebook account. So all in all, his disapperance is pretty much like smoke in the air. It disappears along the blowing wind.
I think I miss him.