It was one of those wonderful days where things were ordinary but weren’t. She plopped onto the couch with the SAT book balancing precariously on her knee as I buried myself in a blanket to stop my clothes from dirtying her bed (her request).We worked on some questions whilst eating cereal: she and her hand stuck in a bag of colourful pebbley things and me with mine in crunchy peanut butter balls (Captain Crunch is the BEST). We talked about him and how confusing he is and how much we hated the uncertainty. I told her she needed to stop because he was making her sad and happy at the same time (more sad, actually) and we couldn’t have that. She told me I needed to start talking precisely because I don’t do it enough. And then we did some more work and she announced that she’d had enough and that she wanted to sleep. So I blogged and put on Ed Sheeran and Passenger and One Direction as she snoozed. Now I’m wondering if music affects the dreams you have… I should’ve asked her when I eventually woke her. She had wanted me to wake her after half an hour but I didn’t want to move her- she was tired and looked too comfy.
When I finally did, we decided on dinner and went to our favourite mall, our second home. We hid drinks in the freezer full of ice cream in Taste whilst we ordered Korean food, and by the time we went back to retrieve our drinks and stock up on Haribo gummies, our stone pot rice had gone from scalding hot to moderately warm. We took a walk home in the perfect weather and enjoyed the chill as we chewed on the gummies. The one that looked the worst tasted the best and the peach flavoured gummies that looked the best disintegrated in our mouths and had this terrible texture to them. I don’t remember what we talked about but it was all good and jolly, walking along the familiar, worn out roads with an old, familiar friend. There’s just something about walking and talking that’s easy and fluid and lovely. Especially when it’s dark and the street lights emanate an orangey light that’s hazy around the edges.
We had a walk later that night, trying to find a diner or pancake place in Central. It was late and Starbucks was closed so we roamed the streets, peering through alleyways and staring past drunkards/ “people getting crunk”. We ended up at Pacific Coffee and she ordered something yummy and caramel flavoured and we talked some more and I listened and tried to let her know that I understood in my own way.
The worst thing is not being able to give people your eyes and a piece of your understanding and show them who they are to you. Like a mirror from all perceivable angles, because there are no words to describe the depth of feeling or intensity you experience. Only ‘amazing’ and other words like that and ‘I love you’, which don’t convey the details, like how you feel when they know exactly what to say to make you feel better- not because they are words of encouragement but because they are more than words. They are faith and belief in you and they are fashioned from love. Like, that surge of inspiration they invoke in you or the overwhelming appreciation of their complexity and just basically wow. asfddhf can’t even try.
From Sobe to Sobe to remember.