When two suddenly become one
“Hey”
“Hey”
“You’re cute”
“Thanks”
“Your profile is pretty old huh?”
“Yeah, it is, I should update it”
“Well at least that gives us something to talk aboutJ”
“Yeah”
“So… let’s start small, what’s your favourite colour?”
All the colours in my home, the living room is a gorgeous ochre that lights the room on fire when the sun sets and speckles droplets of sunshine through the hazelnut bushes onto the walls. The bedroom is a calming shade of purple, to calm our minds for the hard days of tomorrow. The office is a green that makes you believe you are inside a forest, a forest with internet – the best thing ever! If you open the window the rhododendrons will reach their branches in to say hello to you. The bathroom is still in a can in the basement somewhere, at least as far as I know. But it is the shade of the sky on the clearest of days, and speaks of new beginnings for each day ahead. The red in the kitchen is the only one inherited from the previous soul here, and it is comforting like a hug on a cold night. But I don’t live there anymore.
“I don’t know, I don’t really have a favourite colour, I like them all, but depending on my mood my favourite changes”
“Ah, cool, mine’s green”
“Cool”
“Did you see the photo of my bike? Do you like motorcycles?”
They are on their own for dinner. Not that they can’t handle it. They figure steaks will do, and maybe a salad, nothing crazy. They race to the store hoping it’s still open, they don’t really know the hours here. Suddenly two bright eyes are facing them, head on. A brake and swerve later his adrenalin beats through his back into her chest, they are one. Red for him, white for her, steaks chosen, salad chosen and they race back, the sun chasing them. They giggle the night away with the bottles, the lavender fields buzzing a romantic song to their dinner.
“Yeah, I like motorcycles, but I don’t have a license”
“Can I ask you why you haven’t updated your profile yet?”
“I don’t really know what I’d say there anymore”
“So, do you want to grab a drink sometime?”
How could I? What stories would I tell without catching myself every other word, trying to edit it into something that is mine and not OURS? I don’t want to edit anything.
“No”
Twiggles 