That we are---
"From what I remember, I guess you do," our step came to a halt, "It's not like there's a lot for me to remember," says I barely a whisper as I sit on a bench.
You already walked towards the railing on the tip of the hill, hair flying backward from the wind washing over you. Hands spread apart as if you could hug every blow. As if the wind could also block your ears from the words I said.
"I forgot how refreshing it could be being here," I smile weakly as you walk over and then sit beside me. Your eyes are closed. The jacket you wore lays motionlessly at your side, my hand playing with the sparkling zipper at its side.
"Well, maybe because you're not always here," the words sting in my chest. Thinking, if I were to make something up between us, would it be easier for me? Or would it be more suffocating to stop denying the truth?
The thing is, I don't know.
I can feel your gaze bored deep into the top of my head, my own eyes keep on staring at the cool shiny metal on my hand because it was easier to look at it.
There's a sudden warmth beside me, and then your hand grasps the air as the jacket is lifted by the owner. The next thing I know my chin is tenderly lifted by the finger under it, and my eyes meet another pair of eyes.
"I'm leaving again tomorrow."
"I know," I reply, I don't even recognize the voice I let out. Sounds too much unlike me. Too fragile for me to believe that it's mine.
But at least this time, I know something.
