i went to the grocery store today
with a fridge fully stocked.
walked through the aisles with my hands losing grip of the trolley,
fingers slipping off despite the sterile, air-conditioned walls.
like how yours slipped off mine despite our content, contained world.
one that i could pack up in a lunchbox and send away for the day
without fear, as it would always come back.
always be here.
i walked past the plastic-wrapped bouquets of flowers
without instantly pointing to them like a reflex arc;
muscle memory.
poster relationship.
boy meets girl, girl meets boy.
the rest i’ve heard you say a couple hundred times
before we went to bed,
with your eyes lit up, my cheeks flushed red
like i hadn’t lived it all out.
i could’ve picked some up.
it’s not that i can’t get myself flowers.
not like my vase has been filled in quite some time.
but i didn’t. i don’t.
it’s that the smell reminds me of you
and i just can’t quite bring myself
to let that scent linger again.
exactly why i’m wearing this fake, put-together outfit
and not my? your big maroon t-shirt
that i’d wear to run errands.
can’t let that scent linger again.
i stopped by the fruits.
i don’t need any, there’s way too many at home.
i usually slice the pears and sprinkle them with beet lobon,
have them as an afternoon snack.
but you wouldn’t put a fruit near your mouth.
the texture weirds you out.
so i stood there,
grabbing one of each.
apples, oranges, grapes, pineapples.
trying to understand where you came from,
but i’d never get it.
fruits are nature’s candy.
so sweet, how can someone not like them?
but you wouldn’t get that.
walked past the junk food.
now that’s what i probably would end up eating anyway.
that and bhaat and bhorta.
something to sustain me, something to make me happy,
something to have when my missing appetite
decides to show up.
i grabbed a couple of things, paid and left.
walked home safely, but you don’t know that.
i haven’t called you to say that in some time.
i think you’d like to know.
or maybe you wouldn’t.
but i don’t let myself think too much these days,
so i don’t really know.
i unpacked my shopping bag,
immediately put the ice cream in the freezer.
it’s funny how it stood on a cone
when i’m such an advocate for cups.
it’s funnier how i got vanilla when i like chocolate.
you creep up on me, don’t you?
how i wish we could be something more.
something more than a friendship,
but something less than a relationship.
you’re too special for a term
that’s interchangeable with others.
but that’s the best we could do
when neither being together felt right,
nor did being strangers.
i stared at the chips i got.
four of them, electric blue “magic masala”.
i like the green ones.
they were in stock.
but these felt better.
felt closer to you when i got them.
what even is close anymore?
i’ve heard you breathe in your sleep,
heard your heart beat while i lay on your chest.
but now this is what feels closer
than when i counted the moles on your body.
isn’t that something?
i put the last of the groceries away.
the fridge is full.
the freezer is cold.
the flowers are still on the shelf
and the maroon shirt is still at the back of my closet.
i wonder if you went grocery shopping today,
if you picked up the green ones,
if you got chocolate,
if you thought of me at all.
i wonder if i’ll end up forgetting my favourite flavours,
if they’ll change without me realising it.
i wonder if i’ll ever understand where i end
and where you begin.
i wonder if you’ll do the same.
Marissa Manal Waiz is a Dhaka-based writer who recently completed her A-Levels.
