Café Otoya

From the upstairs window I can see the patio of the cafe below me. A man’s hands is given a menu. His identity is hidden by the patio roof. His hands leisurely turn the pages. I imagine it is you, and it will be for as long as his face is not revealed, so I don’t look much longer.

What did time do to us? She ate us up, all of us, and left nothing behind. The memory of the tears forming in the well of your eyes that did not dare to fall, the anger shaking your voice to hide the shattered bones underneath, listening to that languid song alone at the party that sang ‘I’ll stay if it’s real.’ These memories won’t last much longer. It will be eaten up by the other ones, ones more recent, more clear, ones that are closer and harder to ignore.

The arrow you hit at the target of my heart, however close, is still off-center enough that another might take better aim, may take a perfect hit. I’ve got to let him. It’s a law I must follow, a law of destiny. I can feel the laser-red dot pointing at its target, burning through the shirt on my chest. I apologize that I am surrounded. The countdown has started.