The Past

A View from the Library

'Oh boy.' I said under my breath as I immediately put down the book I am reading, A View from the Bed. The book is a collection of essays and articles by Jenny Diski. It begins with the story when she finds a frog staring at her in silence in the corner of her room when she is on her bed. Then, she starts to imagine that it could be his prince and all she needs to do to have her happily ever after is to kiss the frog.

The book is now upside down, it spreads on the last page I read while my eyes are fixated on the view I found outside the library window from the second floor. That's him, the guy who I would never understand yet dreading my pulse like crazy. The very concept of every could have been. The one who I thought would be easy because no label, no drama, right? No, it is not. Here I am, losing my mind.

For a second I tried to look away, the clock that hangs up on the grass-green wall shows ten to four PM on a Thursday. Maybe it's his day off, I thought. He works at a fancy Asian restaurant up the hill as bar supervisor. I remember the day he got the job, when my phone bleep brightly, "It's great. I love it here." As if I could see his eyes gleam and his finger danced as he typed. But that was one year ago. And I haven't seen him ever since, and I am leaving this town for good in twenty four hours.

I have the option of two: continue reading, which I tried and lasted less than two seconds because I read the same goddamn word for sixth times, and landed myself on the second option that is to look outside again.

He is getting closer to walk past the library in his black leathered boots and washed out jeans. His red checkered shirt looked very familiar as I remember one Sunday afternoon we went to Topshop he bought that with me. His hair looked darker under the English sunlight, and his beard was an inch thinner than the last time I saw him at the my favourite bar two months ago.

My feet are restless and before I know it, he starts to fade, disappearing from my sight like when the sun rests behind the horizon, slowly as he made his turn to the right, then vanished behind the old-Victorian building. This might be the last time I see him in years.  And my mind starts drifting away.

'I'd love to stop romanticising you,' My words were crisp unlike the sound of the rain hitting the window pane, I could see through the gap between the curtain. Other than that, the room was dark. Not pitch dark, but gloomy dark. He leaned back on the brown velvet couch, holding a glass of whisky as he rested his arm on the side.
'You're not going to.' he said immediately and sounded very certain. But his eyes fixed at the blank TV screen in front of the lined up vintage film posters taped on the wall.
'You sounded like my subconscious.'
He neither denied or confirmed. 'Look, I'd like to live up to your daydream and idolisation, but I can't.'
'It's just too much.' He still looked away, while his other hand shook up the ice inside his whisky as if it needed another stir. 'We're not even in love.'
I held tighter the neck of her wine glass and swirl it around in motion. Almost mimicking him, involuntarily while my eyes now were no longer at him, but on the floor.
'We just found comfort in each other's presence.' He continued.
'But that's it.' Her voice suddenly raised a tone higher, 'it could be love. We could fall in love if we want to! That might be the reason why we keep coming back to each other!'
'See, you're doing it again.'
'Romanticising things.' He then finally looked at me with the gaze that looked like a soft plea. 'I'm an asshole.'
'Yes. But that's because you're running away on the first sign of danger. You can still turn around,'
'To be perfectly honest, Fiya.' I heard my name from his lips and I felt a mild shiver, as if a lightning had struck my sun-kissed skin. 'I don't think you would want me as much once you have me — you like the idea of me. Me, in your head isn't real.'
I went silent. As much as I wanted to argue it was not a matter of possession, have or not have, but I could not found words to argue. 
'Look, I promise you, life goes on whether you like it or not. Once you leave this town, you'll find someone less than an asshole like me, I'll probably find someone who doesn't just like the idea of me.'
'Again, you sounded like my subconscious.'
'Maybe I am.'
I gave up, and threw herself back towards the couch, and stared at the ceiling.
He downed the remaining whisky in his glass and put it back on the coffee table in front of him followed with the sound of tap as if it marked the end of our conversation.
'Damn you. I could've loved you, you know.' I said followed with a soft sigh.
He showed the faintest sign of smile about to cross his cheek, 'Oh, I know.' He sighed, too. 'I could've loved you, too.'

The ending of the first chapter of the book, Diski decides that she does not want fairy tale, her happily ever after does not come from the prince, or the frog. And that's exactly what happen, I close the book and take out my lousy black notebook out of my canvas bag and wrote this.

A piece by : Fiya Muiz

All You Need is Love

 (From top to bottom: Museum of Liverpool, Liverpool Cathedral, Albert Docks and The Beatles Story)

(From top to bottom: Roald Dahl Plass, Wales Millennium Cenre, Cardiff Central Train Station, Doctor Who Experience)
A piece by : Fiya Muiz