We sat at the corner most table of the nearly-deserted restaurant. You handed me a small gift wrapped box and I asked if I could open it. You said, “yes”. I opened it to find a handcrafted silver bracelet. It was your way of mending our tattered hearts. I was surprised and slipped it on my hand and showed it to you. I didn’t know which was more beautiful—the bracelet or the gesture. We spoke a little and for the most part of the conversation my eyes hovered over your lips and my mind was in a frenzy.
We were apart for over eight weeks and I was afraid I wouldn’t recognise you or find the right words to say to you. You were giving me a fractured account of your work life that I wasn’t interested in. I wanted to know if you missed me in your waking hours, when you step into the bathroom every morning to brush your teeth and find my toothbrush next to yours, when you reach for your shampoo bottle and end up using mine, when you pull out your phone to check for a message from me, when you are picking out a tie and want an opinion, when you brush your hair a little too much to the left and remember how I would frown at that, when someone casually mentions me and it tears your heart that you couldn’t call me, when you get off work and know that the next stop would be in my arms, when you look for a shirt but find one of my clothes instead. I wanted to know if you made up for all of this when you dreamed of me and slumbered in thoughts of me. Because I did. I searched for you in the crowds, for my favourite star in the galaxies. There was a flood of overwhelming emotions flowing beneath my skin and lips.
And then, you asked if we could give this another chance. I knew I could never stop at taking my chances with you. How could I? And in a whisper, I answered, “I’ve missed you”.