on strength

We come up the stairs to my room, the silence thick and heavy above our heads. He takes his coat off and puts his bag on the bed. I hear his hesitation as he unzips his trousers. I walk over to the window and draw the curtains to let in some light.

“You’ve got a view,” he says. “You never mentioned that.”

“Well, it’s nothing to write home about,” I tell him. “At night, the buses keep me awake.”

“Maybe you don’t think it’s beautiful because you’re so used to it. But someone who’s seeing it for the first time would beg to disagree.”

“It’s just the city, just traffic. Just a bunch of people trying to get somewhere. It can get a little lonely in here.”

“I think there’s beauty in lonely,” he says. “You just have to be at the right place and at the right time to see it.” I turn around to see he wasn’t looking out the window. He was looking at me.

He comes towards me and puts his arms around my waist. He rests his chin on my shoulder and I feel his warm breath on my skin. We are still just like that for a long time, two strangers coming together watching the city unravel.

Beyond the buses honking and the sound of people all trying to get somewhere, I could hear a dull thumping from the middle of my chest. I close my eyes and in my mind’s eye, I see my tired heart. Glue stains and pieces of tape covering cracks and scars, it slurs from its slumber. I feel its gears whirring slowly but furiously. For the first time in months, it begins to light up and beat again.

I didn’t know I had it in me. I didn’t know it had any fight left. Maybe I just don’t know my own strength.

♫: Carly Rae Jepsen | The One (2016)