All ideas and characters © Tsuu (aka Samantha S.) Please don't steal.
Sometimes words are all you need.
All you need,
To get the message across
That seemingly confused bridge.
That’s what I thought. That is what I did.
Yet now, things seem different.
I try to say it.
To shout it. To whisper it.
But it all seems to be in vain.
Nobody understands what I try to say. As if people of today have become deaf to such things.
Such things as I love you. Did you know that? Well I do. Oh, and I’d also like to marry you.
I tried saying this to Denise one morning. She flipped. Well, theoretically speaking.
We were having breakfast in my small flat downtown, on the terrace, despite the rain of the night before. I remember clearly the moisture of the air. The left over raindrops on the terrace’s end. The cloudy sky.
Denise was smiling despite not being your usual morning type of person. I think it was because this morning I had made her favorite coffee. It tasted pretty much the same, but had cinammon added to it.
We ate our coffee and toast quietly. It was a Saturday morning, nearly 10 o’clock. But since this week was a holiday for most, I suppose this morning was quiet as well.
As I ate my breakfast, I observed Denise in her white cotton robe, reading through her designer glasses, the newest addition of VOUGE. Her short honey-like hair was still a little messy, but for some reason I couldn’t help but find it made her sensual, as some of it falled across her pale, thin face.
To me, she looked like an angel reading a fashion magazine.
And I loved her. That was it. I could finally picture it then. Us together. Officially.
But this was so sudden. I had to digest my suprising discovery. Before I burst it out and said it too soon.
Yet I had to say something. Anything before I could let this feeling disappear too quickly.
So I did.
“Denise.”
“Yes John?” Denise did not lift her head.
“Why don’t you stay here a little longer?” I tried not to sound eager.
“Oh? But I thought we agreed to make it a a couple weeks. The those weeks are over, John. I need to go back home. Back to Florida.”
I was silent for a couple seconds. But then:
“Why not make it a month?”
Denise snorted impatiently. This time she stopped reading her magazine, put it down, took off her glasses and looked at me, and said:
“Look John. I have a life back home. A really busy one. I just can’t stay here with you.”
“Then I come with you to Florida. I can rent a place there.”
Denise seemed suddenly startled. Then she started shaking her head.
“No, John. That wouldn’t work. It just wouldn’t. Besides, you have your life here too. No.”
I wish she could understand by what I was asking that I wanted her to become part of my life. Be my life.
Denise was still talking.
“You have to understand John. We’ve known eachother for very little time.”
“You call a year very little time?” For some reason I had to get up from my chair to say that.
Denise at that point crossed her arms. She wanted to retort. I knew it. But she didn’t. Instead, she was very straight forward. Painfully so.
“John, I realize now that you may feel passionate about our relationship, but you must know that I have no plans to get married. Nor do I imagine this relationship lasting. That is why I have kept our visits short. Don’t you see that?”
I couldn’t help but feel hurt. Anybody would, right? And when one is hurt, you’re more vulnerable to say things you know you shouldn’t say.
“But I love you.” I knew I was creating a dead end at that point. But I couldn’t help myself.
Denise scowled. “Oh damn it, John! Don’t be such a wuss!”
I suddenly realized how cold Denise really was to emotions. She was so tender, so affectionate when we were normally together. Or maybe it was me. Maybe I was dreaming it all, and I never realized it. Maybe I was the only one who was affectionate. Who loved at all.
If this is how Denise was acting, it was obvious she didn’t care for me. I comfirmed this when she got up from her chair and started for the bedroom.
“Where are you going?” I could feel a lump in my throat. I felt pitiful. But despite that I followed her.
“I’m packing my things, John.” Sure enough, she was already taking her belongings out from the closet and bathroom and putting them in her bags that were now laid on the bed. I didn’t stop her necessarily. But I tried in words.
“The least you could can do is stay till tonight. Your flight is only until 6PM. I can drive you there. Besides, where do you plan to stay?”
“I know a good hotel around here.”
“Why not here?”
“No John.”
I raised my hands in the air in sudden frustration. The feeling of hurt was starting to wear off.
“Stop “No John!”-ing me! You are not my mother, and I’m not a child, you know!”
She turned her head to look at me. Her expression was blank. Yet I knew at that moment what she meant.
She really did consider me a child.
Ack. I'm feeling iffy with my dialouge.
