Canal view
We stand by the canal, leaning against the sterile metal railings separating us from the lethal, freezing water. A heavy truck passes behind us as we stared into our trembling reflections. Then silence.
“It’s past midnight.”
“I’ve noticed. Are you cold?”
“Not that much.”
We stay a metre from each other, shivering slightly.
“Is that it? Is that what success looks like?”
We look across the water to a glass-covered apartment block. A couple has fallen sleep watching television in their living room, illuminated only by the screen and their designer floor lamp. Their faces are at once serene and wearisome.
“We could be like that.”
“We could.”
“But we’d hate ourselves.”
“We might like the view.”
“When did we start referring to us as ‘we’?”
We sigh softly as if orchestrated. The white condensation from our mouths merges into a single cloud.
I stare into the fading outline of our breaths. The cold stings my eyes, drawing out a tear that cools immediately.
“I’m freezing. Let’s go.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Come on. Don’t be silly.”
“Please leave.”
“It’s very late. I can’t just leave you here.”
“Please leave.”
You don’t move, and neither do I.
I wonder how many more times this will happen before you leave once and for all.
You dislodge yourself from the section of railing that you’ve spent the past half an hour warming up. I don’t look up.
