Anatomy of the twenty five and working

Hands, I have such small hands. The soap bubbles looked like jewels when a part of the window light slanted by the sink. My laundry was piling up for a while so I decided to do the washing on a Sunday. I was warmed up by a cup of Nesvita but was kind of slowed down by your presence. Everything else was the same—the morning, the birds, the silence. You were the only introduced factor but it felt way too different.

You ate your breakfast and I was trying to remember what the conversation was. I guess, it had something to do with the leftover chicken. I don’t really remember. But I remember liking you. It’s just silly how everything can be so transient—the breakfast, the morning, and you. Oh, how I regret to have but two small hands that were too full to hold even the idea of you.

Eyes, I don’t have beautiful eyes but at least they were keeping perfect vision. I still see myself retiring at thirty, making a small canvass of the world, and smiling perfectly in a strange photograph atop your desk. I don’t wish to fill all the gaps in your equation. But at least let me see who I need to be so I can fit any variable in your life’s algorithm.

You ate your breakfast and I watched you from the corner of my eye. I don’t remember what I see, really. But I recall liking whatever it was. It’s just so frustrating why can’t I see past your nonchalance and charming indifference. Maybe, we move in too distinct worlds that any chance of coming across your universe must be once in a lifetime. And maybe too, with these ordinary eyes, I may hold you in a gaze.

Feet, I have ugly feet scarred by childhood misadventures and calloused by ardent quests. Still, I dream of pressing foot prints on unknown sandy shores while you could be on the opposite bay. We don’t really need to our shift paradigms. You can be you while I remain so too myself.

You ate your breakfast and I maintained my distance. I have a feeling you were a step away, but I thought you can’t even be close. I don’t remember how I ended at the place I was standing. Suddenly, it was just you and me and the pile of laundry in between.