meekia

Your breathless purr.

"We were supposed
to come together... "

Your breathless purr...

I remember your scent. Fresh from the shower. Damp towel.

The wet.

hair.

Moist.

skin.

Soft.
lips.


It sounded so much sexier, the first time you whispered that sentence into my ear.
But now, it rings hollow in my head, as I stare at the quiet Cavanagh bridge before me.


1896.


"Let's start...ALL OVER AGAIN..."
(I remember that devilish smile.)

The smooth.
nape.


"Come together."
That was our plan. Two tickets. Your hand in mine.
Sunset. Starlight.
Beachside.
Boat ride.

Your...

I pause. And reach into my pocket.

Your plane ticket is now, merely, a crisp piece of cardboard.
A crisp, floating, piece, of,
cardboard.

Romantic rubbish, in the clean Singapore river.

Romantic rubbish.
I control the urge to indulge in a snide smirk.

Let's go.
I walk, over to the other end of the Cavanagh bridge. I keep walking, past the grand hotel entrance, the valet-parked luxury rides, the candle-lit couples.

"Walking past.
1896
Something historical. Romantic. Rubbish in the river."

The words floated around in my head, like that perished ticket.

Pictures.

Aahh..
I remember.
Your dress.

Left shoulder.
Pale.

Luscious. Auburn curls.

1896.

You wink and hand me your heels. I turn and bow, and hold them in my left hand.
Then I grin.

A grand swipe! A squeal.

"If I lose this bet, I'll carry you across the bridge."

Midway, I stopped, and we kissed.
Nimble at first. Then nefarious.

That was the first time, I heard your breathless purr.

posted by audaciousjoy @ 10:54 PM