beni hatırlıyor musun?
A girl I love in a way I have never loved anyone before tells me she has never been ice skating. Actually, she retracts, she has once. It was in a mall in Dubai and she sprained her ankle. Had to wear a brace for weeks after, she says and laughs. Her laugh is velvety and it paints the surroundings with subtle charm. Then she starts talking about a movie she watched yesterday and I try so hard to listen but I can't because all I can focus on is how badly I want to kiss her.
I used to go ice skating all the time. Back in Sweden, you didn't even have to go to an ice skating rink or anything. If the lakes were tested you could just go there. Twilight surrenders to the whims of the moon and the ice-draped lake mirrors the solemnity of an apparition — an abstract reflection of existence, both familiar and unknown. Sharp blades etch trails on the crystal surface. Everyone there was happy. Even if they weren't, they somehow were. My friends and I would bake cinnamon buns and pour hot chocolate into our thermoses before going. The biting cold would grasp at our cheeks and our noses would grow a bright red, or a flushed pink, but we didn't care. I used to be able to do tricks. I don't think I can anymore. My biology teacher says if you get taller you forget how to ice skate. I've grown about six inches since I lived in Sweden. It was like a sneak attack, I was short at thirteen, short at fourteen, then at fifteen I just woke up a tad taller one day.
I want to take this girl ice skating. I'd make her the tastiest hot chocolate in the world. I was never a good baker but I'd steal the cinnamon bun recipe from Erik– or she and I could make them together. Or we could make cookies. She says she's good at making cookies. I'm happy she doesn't know how to skate. And I'm happy it'll be freezing cold, way colder than the winters her body – the body which has been weaned on the syrup of the warm, Eastern sun – has ever experienced. I have two whole excuses to hold her hand. One: hold me so you don't fall on your ass again. Two: It's not that cold. Let me warm you up. And afterwards, I'll get sick, and she'll go "Not that cold, huh?" and laugh at me and maybe ruffle my hair and maybe put her hand on my forehead to see if I have a fever. Maybe she'll make me breakfast. Maybe she'll put the cup of tea up to my mouth when I'm too ill to move. God, I am fucking pathetic and embarrassing.
". . but that's why no one likes that movie. It's controversial. And no one likes teenage girls who are high and afraid and have extremely strict parents and are being hunted down by vindictive camels. We should watch it together sometime! If you ask me I think she deserved most everything that happened to her. I mean, who in their right mind goes out with a Qassimi to some gross little party in the middle of a desert? And with a samsung? If I was her, I would've. . ."
I wait until she finishes before letting her know I love her so much. She throws a shirt at me and tells me to shut the fuck up. To her I am just a false prophet in all of the ways there are. I know that very well, and it hurts me very much.
