When you wrapped both your hands which were cold from the air-conditioning in the upper deck of our bus around my elbow, there was not (on my part) the briefest moment my mind could have left the scene which stretched much longer than was previously negotiated as a loan (on your part). We covered our act with huge heavy bags, keeping it away from sight from the random mix of after-work commuters and dirty teenagers blasting loud rock music through their hand phones. I remember your grip: cold, cordial and unfamiliar in the beginning but firm and (I would have hoped, passionate) gentle before you let go.
When we walked aimlessly you smoked after thanking me for lending you my energy which you stole from me while your hands were around my elbow though that was not the only thing you took away from me that night. We headed North in the direction of your house where you insisted a breathtaking view would meet us midway, only adding later that it is sunlight that is beautiful and not these yellow street lamps, and so we conceded to appreciate the speeding highway that was beneath our feet where according to you facing the cars that traveled away from you gives you a wonderful feeling of letting go.
When we faced the cars that were oncoming, I envisioned that was what dying repeatedly would feel like. The bridge stood as a platform protecting us from that dreadful fate. We parted.
When I hummed the song repetitively I hummed away my blues and though I was bruised I was content at least I knew how ardent my heart could feel in spite of happiness and a guarantee of forever.