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You wake me up at 3 a.m. to talk about the sky.
It’s dark and yet the faint traces of the sun’s rays stay behind as an afterthought. It leaves a wake of pale greens and yellows and blues as the sea of dark byzantine blur the edges of where colors meet another. The stars are almost gone. They were merely just a dusting of white flecks, small, translucent, beautiful, like freckles.
I say it out loud.
“The sky looks like you.”
You had freckles too.
You wake me up at 11 p.m. to talk about a documentary about the moon that you were watching.
The quiet buzzing noise of a distant television flitted through the receiver I was craddling with clammy palms. Your breath ends up in crackling noises. Whispered exchanges of conversations were caught with cupped hands that curled around microphones and phone cases.
“The moon has 8 phases, one of which is called a new moon. It is the first phase of the moon. When it orbits as seen from earth, the moment when the moon and the sun have the same ecliptic longitude. The moon is not visible. Instead it is seen as a silhouette during a solar eclipse.”
You recite it clearly, exact, and concise. You’ve memorized it a long time ago when we were younger and bolder and still full of small scratches and dreams. I remember the third time we’ve watched it. The room was full of buzzes and white noise and whispers of small voices and linked fingers. Toes brushed against each other under a starry blanket.
I was content, you were happy, we tuned out the tv and yet we still manage to whisper the lines of the documentary.
We were content, we were happy.
We were so, so naive.
You wake me up at 4 a.m. to talk about the future.
You wanted to be an astronaut. To float in an expanse of nothingness and something-ness. Connected by a single wire to a chunk of metal floating in space. To land on the moon and grin from ear to ear. You said you’d take a picture up there, in the sky, with a goofy smile and double peace signs. But we are still in highschool. It’s our third and last year.
“Let’s go to the same college!”
I simply nod along.
You wake me up at 12 a.m. to talk about the train ride.
“It’s a 2 hours train ride.”
“Yeah. I know.”
We’re not going to the same college.
You wake me up at 2 a.m. to talk about the first day.
You were nervous. You were nervous back then too, when we first enrolled in high school. You were more nervous now though.
“It’s because you’re not here.”
I hum in acknowledgement.
“You’ll do fine.”
The strangled pause was stagnant.
“It’s not the same without you.”
I know.
“I know.”
You wake me up at 9 p.m. to talk about your boyfriend.
You talk about his chocolate brown hair and his matching eyes. His all too friendly laugh and his flirtatious smirks. The winks, the hand holding, the snuggles, the brushes, the gazes.The kisses. The everything.
The everything I could have had.
I nodded and hummed and commented on all the right things at all the right places. Too bad you couldn’t see me shaking in my bed, underneath my skin, my bones rattling under the sheer force of not breaking down right then and there. My chest ached. If you saw me now you would have suggested turning down the thermostat.
I didn’t mention how many girlfriends your boyfriend had before you.
17.
You wake me up at 11:45 p.m. to talk about the break up.
To talk about the girl in your bed and the clothes scattered around the living room. The thong on your table in the study room. You called me to talk about the lies, the excuses, the facades, the mistakes. The misplaced love and your sheer stupidity.
I could hear your teeth chattering as you try to suppress the sobbing. Oh how much you just wanted to wail and pour your liquid heart out through tears and snot and saliva dribbling down the corner of your mouth. But you can’t. You mustn’t. He was in the other room after all.
You wake me up at 10 p.m. to talk about what we are.
In hushed tones and choked sobs you talk about the past. The bullying by the playground. The moment we met.
The moment you broke apart.
In a steadily growing baritone and shaky breaths you talk about the break up. The pretty boy with chocolate brown hair and a girl clinging to his arm. The moment you fell in love long before she happened.
The moment I broke apart.
With trembling voices and gasping words we talk about the present. The now. This moment. Our beating hearts synced, our breaths mingled, our hands grasping at sheets. I was glad for this barrier of distance. You couldn’t see the way I was twitching, hands aching and mouth itching. Itching to pour out everything. Uncut, unfiltered. To wrench out the words that were clogging my throat, blocking my whimpers of silence. The moment was quiet.
Can you hear us breaking?
Probably, yes. There were cracks in the dam and leaks were steadily flowing. I could hear you gaping, opening and closing you sweet mouth, hoping to speak but it was cast away by silence. I don’t blame you. You were probably scared. Scared to ruin what we had. Scared to take a step forward because despite of your feet growing bigger they have forgotten to grow steadier. You were not scared of falling. You were afraid of breaking. I knows this.
Because I’m the same.
“You should come visit sometime.”
Your voice cracked as much you hoped it didn’t. I didn’t mind.
I hummed in agreement.
You wake me up at 1:30 a.m. to tell me that you were waiting in the station.
“It gets a little cold in the apartment in this time of year so I hope you brought stuff for that.”
“Yeah, I did.”
“What do you want for breakfast?”
“I could go for anything really.”
“Guess we’ll have omelette. Miso soup sounds good too. You know how to make miso soup right?”
“Miso soup is as far as my culinary skills go. My roommate usually cooks.”
“Oh, Miyuki right?”
“The one and only. Where did you say your roommate went?”
“Ahh! Kuramochi went back home to Chiba for half the month.”
“Hmmm.”
‘We will now be arriving shortly to Chiyoda station. Please double check on your belongings before exiting.’
“Hey, I’ll be by the stairs okay? They’ll be right in front of your train car, you won’t miss it.”
You wake me up at 4:56 p.m. to talk about what was on your mind.
You stayed quiet for a while, wordlessly sitting crossed legged at the edge of your roommate’s bed (well technically my bed for now). I scoot the side, lifting up the blankets. As expected you crawl over and settle yourself by my side. I watch you from the corner of my eye.
“I…I couldn’t sleep.”
“Hmmm…I’ve noticed.”
You twiddle your thumbs nervously, absent-mindedly curling and unfurling the rest of your fingers that peaked out from the edges of your fraying sweater.
“What were you thinking about?”
“You.”
You wake me up at 5 a.m. unconsciously with all your rolling.
I groan. It was too early and too cold to wake up now. There’s weight on my outstretched forearm and hair tickling my finger tips. You murmur under your breath about the cold air that rushed in, your warm exhale ghosting through the fabric of my shirt on my chest. It was funny how your face was pressed in on my heaving chest.
I smile.
I love you.
You smile against my skin.
I love you too.