He watched her as she waved goodbye. That smile on her face and the gentle wave of her right hand.
“When can and shall we meet?” he asked her only a few moments earlier as they said their goodbyes.
“Maybe in two months.”
Until that day, they hadn’t met for more than two months. The stressful combinations of his impending jobless status and her never-ending load of overtime work meant that there was no chance he could get her out for dinner.
It was only through sporadic text messages during those “lean” weeks that kept things going. While he tried to pack as much information about the twists and turns of his life (which caused a considerable amount of grief and frustration for him) in those limited less-than-120 spaces, her response was mildly empathetic and disappointingly brief.
His conversations with Miss Psychedelic Colours were always enjoyable and enlightening. There were times when he smiled wryly to himself as he toyed with the idea of how a lifetime would never be enough for him to relish those conversations with her.
For one, he would love to know how art pieces fascinated her. He believed trips to art museums would be as enjoyable. He could picture the both of them moving silently from one art piece to another, drawing upon their own perspectives of how each artist drew inspiration to create each individual work. Then, they’ll gush about their observations later (more conversations!), like how teenagers would after watching their first R(A) film.
With a turn, her back now faced him. He took one last look at her for a short few seconds and went his way. The troubles of yesterday now returned in his head, dispelling all that good, fun and laughter of the conversations.
Yet in his heart, five words repeated incessantly.
Why do I miss her?