I remember us sitting in the balcony of this shack-like store, sipping tea and staring at the city where nothing ever happens. I remember you keeping your cup on the railing. I remember me keeping my cup in my hands, far away from the ledge. You asked me why I didn’t keep it on the railing, and I told you that I couldn’t trust the railing or anything that wasn’t in my control.
I could trust myself. I’ve always been like that. I never trust the odds or the uncertain. You’ve always been like you too. You’ve never not trusted them. So, you took my hand, the cup in it, and gently helped me place the cup on the railing and said: let go. The cup did not fall that evening. That was the first time you made me let go.
It’s been more than a couple of years since that nameless evening. I remember a few songs from it. Those, the cup and you telling me to let go. It’s been years and I am still the same person. I’ve changed in all ways but not in trusting my own hands more than anything else. So, when I found myself talking to the universe the other night, some weeks ago, I felt an intense betrayal because I was making a wish.
You know me better than me anyway so you know what that means for me, but I was tired. I looked at the starlit sky above the city where nothing ever happens, drunk at four in the morning, and I just stared for a moment. I didn’t utter a single word, not even subvocally. I knew, though, that I had wished for something. It was aggravating but I was exhausted and drunk. I broke my rule.
In my entire life, at least, from when I started to call it my own, this was perhaps, the first time I sent a wish into the void. I don’t believe in the universe or fate or any imaginary idea that people use to get through their days. I’ve always been in my own hands. Funnily enough, the wish came true.
Now, I laugh at the coincidence and how the game was all set. Maybe you set it up years ago by asking me to let go, and keep that cup on the railing. I kept the cup on the railing at four in the morning, love. The cup didn’t fall. I let go, for the first time in my life, and it worked. It would’ve been sadder, much sadder if it hadn’t.
Yet, it baffles me; who am I now?