Untitled Writing

I'll close the door soon.
Yes, too long opened will only invite incoming insects. If I usually leave the window open a little, this time I'll close and lock it. Just knock on the door if you want to go home, may I still wake up when you come.

Oh, you have not come back yet?
I do not know how many nights I've fallen asleep since I told you about doors and windows. By the way, tomorrow I'll move house. All your stuff is still in the same place. The key I put in the usual place.

My new house is not as grand as before. Indeed, petite and sweet. I love it here, the road to this house is quite meandering and it seems like you will have trouble finding it. Maybe someday, we can meet and sip coffee at our favorite tavern while you tell me about your adventure, and I tell you about my discovery. Someday, and that's me.

Everything related to us is inevitable. Like time that keeps turning. Like you glance at the big clock in the corner of the room and you know that in five minutes longer, the long needle will move to 12, followed by a loud clank that marks the turn of time. Five minutes later, what you know will happen, but is inevitable.

I am the Number Twelve and you are a Long Needle. You will always find me, and I will always feel found by you.
You will soon leave for how long this time. This past week, I've recorded everything about you so I can play it until the next time you find me again.

Your loud laughter, how your corner of your eyes shrink as you laugh, the curves of your lips as you smile, your voice in all words, how your fingers dance on any surface, the sense of re-found when our fingers interlocked, your ever-successful shoulders make me feel safe whatever my mood, your body combined with tobacco and detergent, your spicy humor, your reactions to every thing I say, and how I feel quite normal with all my abnormalities when I'm with you. You are not replaced.

Some people have filled my time-but not my heart and my head or the emptiness that existed when you were not there for the last four years. You know everything about me and you never leave me in my worst time. You invite me to laugh at all the pain and give me new glasses. You always know to choose the right sentence when people sneer at me and make me feel valuable.

In your way, I may be less good at delivering flavors and always look slow, but I know you know how to translate anything in my head. So far, no matter what we are, we often share the same boat. You always know, you always exist, somehow.