Creative Voices

By Vishwa Parmar | Edited by Jacob Hunter

Our first date didn’t work out the way I’d hoped.  

I was going to surprise you.  

We never finished our dinner that Night,  

because you coughed, at the crucial moment.  

  

Not to mention, I thought it was the red vine.  

Not to mention, I casually passed you a tissue. 

Earlier that evening I suggested we see Titanic,  

that most romantic movie  

because I was going to propose afterwards.  

  

 You didn’t want to.  

“I prefer happy endings,” you said.  

So, we went to eat at The Great Wall instead,  

your favourite.  

  

God knows how many proposals it had seen. 

I tipped the waiter to bring the ring, 

instead of a fortune cookie.  

But he couldn’t bring it on time. 

  

Of course, the time was not right. 

It was after your first bite of Steamed Flounder  

with Ginger and Scallions,  

which you like more than I do. 

  

The way you put the chopsticks to your lips.  

I knew the food was delicious.  

But then you coughed…blood.  

  

You ran to the restroom. 

I froze in my chair, like a Polaroid photo.  

I couldn’t blink or breathe,  

until I came back to my senses. 

  

You were gone, not forever.  

yet, I left everything behind. 

And followed the ambulance,  

the siren was making me puke. 

  

I wonder if I can still return the ring,  

even though I got it inscribed.  

What else am I supposed to do?  

Your fingers don’t exist. 

The Doctor said your insides were bleeding,  

my dear darling. 

And yes, death was approaching.  

There was absolutely nothing I could do. 

I still remember your magenta dress.  

that went so well with my mahogany office desk.  

Those dangling earrings and bright black eyes  

sparked in my eyes like a chandelier.  

  

I can’t forget your musk perfume,  

mixed with the aroma of steamed dumplings,   

though it’s been a decade now.  

Should I move on? Maybe I should try at the least, 

but guess what? I am not going to! 

  

You see, life is tragic. 

Way more tragic than Titanic.  

You told me to move on, 

Get married and have lovely children.  

But I am no Rose Dawson. 

I won’t marry. No children. 

You were, are love of my life, 

the only love of my life. 

And always will be,  

till I stop breathing.  

  

Because this is not living, 

No life at all. 

Your love gave me unimaginable strength,  

which I don’t intend to share. 

It’s been almost a decade, 

now that I have been counting. 

I have no business or errands to run.  

  

I visit you every day. 

And imagine seeing you alive again.  

I would tell you about love, our love. 

The voices tell me we were meant to be.  

Of course, we were, we are.  

Not in this life, not in this realm, but we are. 

You know that I know that you know that.  

That is what keeps me going,  

keeps me breathing somehow.  

You know what? I have lost  

five pounds since our first date. 

I always skip dessert since then  

because you couldn’t finish yours. 

And the waiter didn’t bring you my ring for dessert.