work: a short

we go to work



sit next to each other in front of glaring computer screens, your baritone voice bouncing off my 23 year old skin. I could feel a gulf between our seats even though we converse in mandarin, a language both our ancestors would be proud of. A secret code only we know in our office populated by Caucasians. How untainted your Chinese accent is even after being bred in Los Angeles.



And about last night-I lay on my naked stomach as you blew smoke rings that smashed against your window sill. I talked about my boyfriend of five years; college days. And I remembered you said your wife was moving here in August. How we laughed about their idiosyncrasies that made us love them.



I'll probably miss the smell of your neck when she's here and the way you describe playing ice hockey in Singapore. And most of all, the creases around your laughing eyes that I presumed were meant for me only.