He came back. He left so many times that I lost count, but each time he came back. Sometimes he would storm off in a flurry of words unsaid, other times it would be me closing the door. Each time, however, it was him who would make his way back.
To be truly honest, we could never be more different. Our overlaps cover very little -- and even these were very tenuous -- there really is not much reason for us to be together. Which is why it wasn't much of a surprise when four days ago he told me, 'I'm not the one you're looking for. Good bye.' Well that was one of the smartest things he'd said, I thought quite honestly and with no small amount of spite. 'You're probably right,' I responded. 'Well then. Good day.'
This afternoon, he called. 'Sorry,' he said. We agreed to meet up for dinner. I echoed his words back to him the second we were face to face. 'You said you were not the one I was looking for.' His expression was unreadable. We started walking. Silence thickened our steps -- like floodwater up to our knees. Pasong Tamo was grey and cold and static.
The next words from me were probably a mistake I realize now. 'Am I the one you're looking for?' It was a flimsy, fraying thread flung into the dark, hoping he'd catch it, hoping he'd hold on to it more tightly this time. Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes... Heartbeat. 'Yes.'
It may not have been a lie but it was certainly weak, and the question was not at all fair. Regardless, the thread held, and I could feel torn cloth sewn back together. The flood stretched out in front of us, and familiar patterns were forming in the darkening sky. There was nothing else to do but walk onward.
