Tag Archives: parting

Never Goodbye

Like any afternoon we would meet, I was in his room. He was draped in his chair across from me, a relaxed look on his face as I twirled a pen between my fingers.

“So… what was your very first impression of me?”

“Well… I thought you were so proper and good.”

“Really? Wow.”

He smiled, a little smug. I smiled back, then continued.

“But when I got to know you better, it all changed…”

My turn to grin as he looked slightly annoyed.

“…I found that you had your own wacky perspective of looking at things, were witty and best of all, you could catch my puns. I love that. I like when someone can go deep with me.”

Looking visibly pleased, he grinned back as me. Then, a thought crossed his mind.

“Remember when you got angry and almost walked out on me? I was so worried you would.”

“Ah yeah…” I furrowed my brows as I remembered. “…but you know I’d never do that.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

I took a breath.

“Out of all of them, you are the best.”

He looked at me, the slightest hint of sadness in his eyes.

“I guess this is the last time we’re gonna be here like this.”

“Yeah well… you gotta go.”

I felt a twinge in my heart.

“But hey, this is never really goodbye. I can always go meet you there, get a coffee or something. And there’s always Skype.”

He brightened up a little.

“Yeah, I guess that’s another way to look at it.”

I gave him a wink.

“So I’ll see you again.”

“Yeah, we’ll do just that.”

I had to smile. “Soon.”

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Filed under emotions, feelings, friends, novelette, style, writing

Prodigal ’13

“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
Unharried, alone.

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.

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Filed under coffee, faith, poetry, trust