The piping hot coffee didn't always stand alone on the table.
Our noons smelt like chestnuts and felt like the sun's warm kiss, whilst the curtains hugged eachother just to illuminate the neon rays of the sun, pouring out from their tiny holes.
The siesta and lying next to you to admire your puffy and exhausted face was something I would do religiously. It wasn't a waste of time, if it were for you.
I knew that you were an early-riser. You would wake up an hour and thirty minutes before I did just to prepare for our round of evening-tea. It was neatly strained and appeared as creamy and sufficient as I expected.
In my recent months, you have been appearing a lot, before me, infact, it's more than usual.
You lived over two blocks away, on the other side of the crossing, but your appearance, oddly feels different this time. It feels untrue but very real, I assure you.
I thought you shifted a million miles away, but looks like you're closer now, although, I feel uneasy about this.
It's questionable why it's uncomfortable. I keep thinking about the existence of a blank space between us, or maybe a bold line drawn in between our encounters, as if something's wrong.
I wonder if it's because of my growing myopia, or just the depth of my mind. I hope it's nothing of great concern, although, I wish to keep seeing you everyday, like this.
You don't seem to be around the rest of the time, you've stopped frequenting my house. Tell me if something's bothering you or you've just been busy.
I miss our day-long hangouts that stretched from the morning till the evening and I'm ready to make changes in my schedule just to see you. I hope you're listening.
YOU ARE READING
Butterfly || Ful
General Fiction'Butterfly', by Ful, is a short-novel depicting a person's eternal inability to move on from the death of a loved one and capturing the most painful moments in the aftermath of a tragedy.
