My Swollen Memory
It was on a late Saturday afternoon when I sat back on the 4-wheeled maroon chair reminiscing and simmering down into the deep thoughts of ambiguous talk I had together with him on the very last day of my sweet vacation – before we strode back to the place we used to be. I still can remember how torrential was the rain at that time, the eerie sudden gush of wind howling at times, as if mocking the echoed tunes of dense melancholy, the tad emotion of sadness I was trying to run away.
The small cubicle room – on the sofa where we sank in – was fully immersed in thick and humid frowsty air, prickling the clear sweats that were entirely condensate on our tanned rough skins. He was there religiously listening to my endless whines without even frowning – oh how I couldn't love you.
Be it hurts or blistering, either vague or murmuring, his carved smiles and the churn of his sweet words danced on his lips - were the potions that healed my wounds, were the lullaby of my incomplete tunes, was the sun for my dreary, murky June.
And as for a certain many, the lost of his presence was just for a brief moment; like the quick disappearance of the dew that bathed by the glare of the sun – oh how people could easily forget how hard did it fall from the cold, misty night.
As such memories had served me all these while and I couldn't evoke, for quite a noted time, how did it feel to be left and dismayed, after being showered with sweet words from a human being, literally called A MAN.
May You Remember The Night We Were Together,
On The Night When You Whispered
"I Love You"
Zubaidah Binti Arshad
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