The aircon whirs,
The digital music box chimes its jewelled notes,
Our hands pull hemispheres apart,
And we breathe.
Words occasionally break the rhythm.
Your phone buzzes invasively
To a steady beat,
But I’m glad you ignore it.
Our fingers are stinging red,
From giving shape to the hemispheres,
Now balls of thread and paper.
We jab the fairy lights
Through the spheres,
Maintaining the colour pattern you picked.
Six long years fall away in the silence.
The clock ticks: a day to make up for each year
I was absent.
We connect the spheres,
The thread of wires joining the dots
Of all the moments of our past.
In the dark, the lanterns sparkle,
Tinged gold with our memories.
This is different from my previous visits
When we used to –
What did we do?
We were so young,
I can’t seem to remember.