…that takes me by surprise.
No thrusting tongues, no heated panting, no urgent undressing. Instead, the kiss is gentle, dreamy, questioning. It lingers. My eyes hooded and half-open the whole time. Our foreheads touch and we breathe the same air for a minute, laced with silent regret and muted purpose.
I hate airports if I’m not the one leaving. But I was there to help fulfil a promise. It’s been a long time since he’s made one, even longer since he’s kept one. And we both need the practice. We don’t usually do promises – just random surprises – but maybe we’re growing up. It is important to know that we can hold some things sacred. At least, just this once.
I watch him through immigration. Our eyes search for each other through the unnavigable distance of glass and procedure. A casual wave. Another time, another airport, maybe? I smile and half-shrug my shoulders.
And it is on that note of wistful helplessness, that he is gone. With his rugged t-shirt, travel-beaten bags and 2-day stubble. Back to the world and its unpredictable meanness.
I take the last train home. In my best non-farewell outfit – a bright green sundress with beech-brown wedges and ethnic bangles. Back to my life and its ordered madness.
So it was, my last kiss here, bestowed on its rightful owner. And with it, the close of this babe’s chapter in Singapore. On a whisper. For now. No goodbyes, just a see you later.
P.S. Faithful readers, no need to reach for the Valium. This blog will continue in Hong Kong, which is a complete cesspit (meant in the very best way) I've been told. But first, I have to finish packing. Ugh. And then I have to make extra sure nothing starts ticking or vibrating in my bag.
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