Scraps

Before the divorce, there was the marriage. When there existed a bond similar to that shared by twins. Like kids wondering in the woods looking for a forgotten hammock. Every second was lived and the next not worried about because certain lessons hadn’t been learnt. There were no layers to what was said. And when her dreams made her twitch, Hossain would wrap his arm around here waist and  cup her fist with his palm. Somehow warming her stomach. Making sure whatever she felt seeped on to him.

Knives and fork, they were, together, devouring the world like a piece of steak. Embracing the ugliness. Took him to the movies the day he got fired when they ate out she always tipped 50% loved him like a prego woman loves her body. When he’d make bad tips; she’d serve him the sky- sun moon and stars included. She didn’t look so pretty on the day he died. Said, “A millstone tied to my neck, this love for a man who only exists at a previous time.”

The heart dissolved into the stomach; the stomach got heavy. The hole in the blanket got bigger. Calm and composed on the outside but a bomb with a ticking clock on the in. Beautifully bruised.  She’d not registered it upon hearing it for the first time. Kept calm and noticed nothing- a forced smile, watery eyes, light drizzle-. didn’t turn around to wave goodbye as she peered through tinted windows at the spine she knew so well. Until it receded into the mirage of what could’ve been

With you, whether you lead or follow.

As it rained, she kept on dancing.

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