I thought we would go out today, you say,
but instead, we are staying home and watching the boring TV show,
and listening to the sound of the pouring rain outside –
Are you out of your mind?
He curls into a ball on my laps, spilling his complains
the same way a bartender spills his liquor:
without reservation, and without a care whether the customer
will be able to tolerate the high from the strong spirit.
I would prefer staying home, I say.
Like how you prefer to leave the curtains down, he says,
when the sun is out,
or like that other time: you would prefer to stay by my side
in the emergency room,
listening to my delirious talk and crying over my bleeding wrist.
Yes, my darling, yes.
Do you prefer to suffer?
No, my darling, no.
I just simply prefer having you by my side
than being alone on my own.
And when being drowned is the only option for you,
I would prefer to drown with you, too.
He looks at me, laughing, You are weird,
then he hides his face into my bosom,
It’s strange. It’s not soft. It’s not like my mother’s.
He buries his head deeper into the hard muscles on my stomach,
and by so doing, his tears form a wet circle on my T-shirt.
I stroke his silky black hair. It’s comforting to think that I will see his black hair
You know what, darling, I say,
I would prefer staying home on rainy day,
like I would prefer skipping my breakfast,
or like how I would prefer putting my shoes at the exact same place
I put them the previous day,
or like –
Like what? He mumbles in his drowsy sleep.
I wait to hear his shallow breathing,
and as his hands lose their grips on my shirt, I whisper:
Like I would prefer having you. More than anything.
I would prefer having you. Loving you. Living with you.
It’s all you, you, you.
Darling, you smell like the rain,
and though I can choose to be out in the sun,
I would always prefer the rain
when you curl up on my lap.
There’s no argument. No insult. No tantrum.
There’s only the me who is holding on,
and the you who is letting go.
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