we would meet outside a pub, his body leaning with a peculiar deftness. he would appear confident, indifferent and effortless. his locks would be overgrown; facial hair. tattoos scrawled across his flesh. he would wear ripped clothing coupled with vintage and worn in leather. scuffed boots at his feet. he would talk lazily, a drawl summoned on his own accord. he would know no hue but black and white. his lips curled, he would smell of rich alpine, cigarette smoke and whiskey. i would watch him play, strum his guitar and recklessly plunge his throat into the unfathomable depths of a melody. we would share in cheap conversation, he would forget my name twice. he would offer me a paradise taken by the tounge. perhaps there may be a morning after.
we would meet in an office. at the very first board meeting. our eyes would casually rest on each other. it would be slightly awkward and we refrain from smiling at each other. he would be young and fresh from university. he would have hair the colour of sand tread upon by innumerable travellers. he would have a british accent and a lean, tall body that would somewhat hint years of polo and privileged living. he would be shy to ask at first but summon the courage to engage in small talk. he would eventually take me out to lunch. to sushi. we would agree on different dishes. we would find plenty of similarities and differences. we would leave flirtatious post-it notes on each other's desk. perhaps there may be a relationship in there somewhere.
we would meet at a mutual friend's wedding. he would be a friend of the groom, i a friend of the bride's. he would be a brunette, blue eyed, cute. unconventionally handsome. he would quote movie lines from every film imaginable and hum theme songs of television series habitually. we would be forced to engage in endless hours of torturous dancing and preparation. at first we would not be attracted to one another but as the weeks spent together accumulate, a sort of fondness lingers. we would spend the wedding day at each other's side. i would fall asleep on his shoulder and he would tuck me into bed. perhaps there maybe a call me after.
we would meet in a foreign country. i would ask him for directions and he would offer to walk with me. he would be handsome; older. he would be successful, conservative. he would mention that he was a widow but have no children. he would be emotional, yet driven. sensitive yet sensible. he would ask for my name and forget no detail in what i've shared. he would pepper our conversation with pearls of wisdom and paragons of proverbs. he would drop me at my desired location and tip his hat courteously. he will ask to see me again, take me to a deserted beach or mountain range untainted and unspoilt by human perversion. perhaps there may be an intimacy, perhaps an unorthodox connection.
we would have known each other all our lives, where we first met would be trivial detail. he would almost be a sibling. we would do life with each other and see other people. fall in love with other people. kiss each other at 13 on new years eve and feel nothing remotely romantic about the moment. we would engage in dead-end jobs, complain about the confining world of tertiatry education and spend weekends watching movies, emptying bottles of wine and rolling jays. we would graduate and i would move north and consequently leave him behind and he would feign that he didn't care, play platonic and distant and wish me the best and subtly hint the numerous flings i would have with strange european hunks. we would spend the last day before my flight in his bed, talking and crying and feeling pathetic but more so real. we would feel it, whatever it is. i would hate him for not persuading me to stay. he will refer to me as his best friend. perhaps there may be an ending to it.
love,
