When we stopped talking, I'd proposed that we should meet again at the same spot a year later where we'd first met. Mimicking the movie Before Sunrise. During this time, we won't talk. We won't meet. We didn't for the longest time, helping us get over each other. Then we met, at a literature festival. You were cold like the winter. I was hopeful like a loser. It wasn't the best meeting, when my hopes were trampled by your indifference. There wasn't an ounce of love in your eyes. Once again, we meet tomorrow. You're showing me your city. You're going through a rough patch in your relationship, and I'm taken. What do I make of it? Maybe the way it has turned out so far tells the story. The promise of us was broken the moment we broke the promise of not meeting until a year later. Both single, hopefully. Why did we get in touch again, forsaking the wait. It has swallowed the concept of us. What used to be our dalliance has turned into a mere acquaintance, with words taking the place of possibility. Of replaceable replacements taking the place of benign belongingness. Of nothingness taking the place of infinity. The promise of us. The promise of us not meeting. After a long time, coming back to YQ. It’s funny how every time I feel restless, I think about YQ. I like the anonymity it provides me here. #love #anticipation
