so, how do you eat your bananas?

zsolt was staring rather strangely at me when he saw me picked up a fork and used it to slice through the banana meat. i raised an inquiring stare at him and of which he replied it with a shrug.

“what?” i asked, the fork piercing through the banana.

he grinned. “i never saw anybody uses a fork to eat a banana before.”

“i know.” i replied. i never saw anybody else eat bananas the way i do (with fork) either. “but it is very handy. allows you to take them in small bites.”

he must have thought i’m crazy. actually, he does think i’m crazy. perhaps, there is something about my insanity that is a little bit comforting. i would actually like to say, attractive. but that would be pushing it too far.

where would i begin? to actually realize that beautiful things are the hardest ones to write overwhelms me. i am obviously not the most private person around (though some madman did say once my openness was a facade); and to know this and yet find quite a difficulty to pen the events so as to immortalize them is a little different. not strange nor weird. just different.

perhaps, these are the beautiful things i do not need to write about. because perhaps, i need no proof nor written detail of evidence to remind me of what had happened.

i remember i noticed him staring at the car window on the way to the airport.

“what?”

he shook his head. “i was just thinking.”

“what about?”

“sydney. december.”

he once asked me what it is that i was scared about. is it the fear of change? he asked.

the day i found him not within arm’s length anymore, the sky opened up and the rain fell. but nobody was mourning. i am missing him now but without the melancholy. the distance is real but not threatening. the time is limited but neither imposing.

for the first time in a very long time, i knew why i wanted what.

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