For you, Oren בשבילך - אורן יקר

(c) photo by khulud kh (2011)

Do you remember, Oren, how I used to hold your curly head and caress your shoulder as you bent low over the window to throw up?

Do you remember, Oren, when I used to lay on your bed – naked.
And you would sit on the floor with a piece of charcoal in your hand.
And you would draw me – naked.

Then, when you finished your masterpiece, we would both look at it for a while – before you shred it into pieces – beautiful art for the sake of art, to be discarded.

I wrote you poems, and you just laughed them away and graded them.

Then, one day, we stood at the top of the stairs, and you told me: “I will push you down these stairs.” And you almost did.
That day, you also told me, “If you leave me, I will kill myself.”

And then I left – all the way to the other side of the world.

And when I came back, I wanted to see your face, run my fingers through your curls, just this one more time, before I go on.

I dialed the number, etched into my bones.
Olivia answered.
I asked, “Can I speak to Oren?”
Silence on the other side. Then, a shocked voice dripping with agony, “Who is this?”
“It’s me,…”
“Oren is gone.”
I wanted to ask when will he be back, and could she please tell him that I called… but then… the agony in her voice enveloped me, and I understood. Oren is gone. Gone.

“If you leave me, I will kill myself.”

Oh, Oren… I am carrying these words inside me wherever I go, along with the memory of your face, the feel of your curls, and the sweetness of your smile…

(c) all rights reserved to khulud kh, 2011