I’m sorry I can’t help being sentimental — even with sufficient compartmentalizing in this faculty — her memories still tampers with facility of felicity.

The drips of her optimism.

Those veiled salacious intent and dry tears of forgotten misery.

5 years is not something that’s easy to bury. Unearthing it is not an option too. Yet as I pass by the memorial site in my own memory. The wretchedness and those smile comes flooding to me uninvited. 

The momentarily stop at Paris Métro is unexpected to both of us. And the first kiss at the station of Sèvres – Lecourbe is unexpected for me.

I’m the luckiest man in the metro station.

Then life interjected with career.

I wait and wait for time to pass by as I try to get home back to her.

Your goodbye silence is as unexpected as those first kiss — five years later.

I felt like I’m the loneliest man in the busiest metro station.

I almost hate Paris.

+++

I’m glad with her reply.

Even after 9 months later — calling me by full name stated much how her felt — tacitly.

That’s how she spell disagreement — as if I’m infantile.

Yet she purred and mew — as if she’s my favourite feline.

It’s not bitterness neither acquiescence.

She accepted it as it is.

I didn’t reply.

It won’t matter.

She finally replied.

And that’s cathartic.