Nov 25, 2007 23:03
You'd cook me Itnok at 3am, when I'd be panicking for the class in the morning. Your cooking always tasted better.
When we had money, we'd go to Starbucks and I'd ask you what you wanted, and always you'd decline. You'd end up drinking half of my tiny cup of caramel macchiato and it would be okay still because too much coffee made me gassy.
In the mornings when you'd take me to school, you'd put your right hand on my left thigh. Not squeezing, not caressing, but just there. And I knew. One day it was me who placed a hand on your thigh. You looked at me, and said, I love you, too.
Every night you'd be working, you'd be on that big swivel chair and you'd tap your lap, beckoning me to sit there. And I'd go. And you'd hug me or kiss me or talk to me. About what, I don't recall.
We'd tickle each other in bed, when we're both already very sleepy. We'd end up laughing the whole night. One night I was having a bad dream. You woke up to wake me up because I was screaming. And you just held me tight while I wet the pillows.
Then you left.
It was a Sunday and I loved you.