“Hold these for me,” she said breathlessly, as she thrusted her passport and boarding pass into his hands. He waited patiently as she fumbled with the stiff zipper of her purse before it reluctantly opened.
“I want to give you something.”
“You’ve already given me lots of things.”
Dipping her fingers into the open slit, her brows furrowed. Then with a jiggle and a clink, her expression softened into a smile as she brought out a shiny coin. Retrieving her items, she placed the coin firmly in his now-empty palm.
“Here’s our fifty-cent coin. Now you have to come over to spend it.”
She grinned as he gaped and looked down into his palm, then looked up at her.
Once I had a dream of you
Before me in a white dress
You were going somewhere far
Where I could not follow yet;
You looked so lovely as you smiled
And asked if you looked fine
I held you and said I’ll always be
In your heart where I’ll reside.
Just a few years ago
I decided I had enough
Of selling my soul
In a compromising job
My true passion was calling
I could no longer wait
Restlessness got more restless
Being cornered made me irate
So meticulously I planned
The major career breakup
Then picked out a beautiful day
To send the letter up
I was counting down the days
And saying my last goodbyes
Nobody really thought I’d leave
Till it hit between the eyes
So here I am standing
One year after the break
Doing the things I love
With some sacrifices I’d made
But I’m glad I took flight
Before it got too late
Find myself in the world outside
Life is too short to wait.
Filed under feelings, poetry
“Prodigal” was originally written ten years ago. On a recent revisit back to 小小的太阳 I realised the beginning scenes depicted exactly what I had in mind.. how uncanny. The prose was edited to give it a more crisp tone and then presented to several close friends as parting gifts.
The mug warm in his hands
He raised it and drank –
A mouth of the dark brew
Lifting his eyes in a glance
The trees bare and laden white –
Not a sight of warmth
But I’ll have to get going yet.
Looked down to the table –
Lit cigarette wasting, sandwich half-eaten
Fingering the ticket lovingly
For just a moment, a hesitation.
Breaking off, he pulled up the collar
Picked up his bag and stood at the door
Stepping off the ledge, he never turned back
On the journey back, home.