Of sentimentality and regrets..

Does she love me?

Sitting on his swivel chair, he stares at the piles of untouched accounts of paperwork on his desk as he recalls endlessly if he ever heard her say ‘I love you’. He groans, remembering that he only heard her say that on their wedding day.

He shifts his attention to the picture frame resting on the side. She looks beautiful in white. Her eyes shape crescents like the moon and the sides of her eyes forms creases. Her lips tints in red and her cheeks rosy pink.  She looks happy, I guess?  Unknowingly, he reaches out to the photograph and finds himself running his long slender fingers on it. He looks happy too, hand entwined tightly with hers, eyes sparkling like stars, and the smile, true.

Too bad their love is fabricated. Fake. A sham. Purely bogus. And he wasn’t supposed to feel anything for her. But between the strong gazes she’d give him, the smiles, his love for tucking strands of hair behind her ear, their empty talks, that unexplainable desire to rather not sleep and just watch her drown in deep slumber, doing her unfinished paperwork secretly, and his love for the small gesture of holding his hand just right before the meeting that’ll make him feel invincible enough to face the board.

Soojung… she might not understand much. But he loves it when their hands touch. He may be dumb, but he’s not dumb enough to realize that he fell.

He fell in love. With the girl whom he’s going to spend his whole life with. And take note, he wasn’t supposed to.

She goes down from his lips and starts placing wet kisses on his collar bone as his breath become ragged. He glances at the girl before him and unknowingly his eyes start to scrutinize her, examining her as if he was a hungry tiger ready to bite every flesh off his prey. His eyes travel and explore every inch of skin on her body.

He waits for words to come to him, words that the lost might use to illuminate life’s vagueness. But there is nothing.

He was never much of a sentimental person. He never loses himself that easily. Even on plays and films they’d do in high school. But don’t misunderstand. It is usually simple things that he finds strangely moving. Like the scent of rain and its pitter-patter sound. He even draws near the window to watch for the lightning, listen to the thunder rumbling… Rising up early in the morning to watch the birds, admiring the bluish-grey atmosphere like morning fog. Loud, confusing and empty talks. Sometimes he’d even get lost staring up at the blue wind-whipped clouds. Maybe he’s not that sentimental, but he’s truly not completely without emotion. It’s like he’s longing inconsolably for something he doesn’t even know.

Her hands move to play with his tie, slowly undoing it. 

And then its hits him. The reason why he’s doing this. On why he hired her, on the times when he’d feel nostalgic seeing her, on why unknowingly he’s do