Problems

Maybe we, are, playing hide and seek.

You slam the door as you trudge into the living room, dumping your bags on the sofa, pushing the cushions into the air like they were on the opposite side of the seesaw of a sofa. 

Your items put away, or maybe thrown irresponsibly away, you thump down onto the ground grabbing the glass of water lying on the table nearby. Raising it above your head, a single measly drop of water slides out and hits you, squarely, on the nose. 

I pick up my laundry basket with a pang of delight full of clothing items and walk away as quickly as I can. You reek of who-knows-what and who-knows-what-else; there is no way I would like to be in the same room. 

I mean, we should at least try to, but honestly, no, it would be intolerable suffering, infinite pain, immense trails. For me, maybe not for you. 

But even when you are more sane, we hide from each other, dashing around the house like we detest each other's presence, hiding like the bright warm sun from the cold wind, lest you, the cold wind devour my warmth. 

(Note: I am the bright warm sun, you are the cold wind.)

We are honestly opposites. Like you, I never knew I would fall for a person like you, but once again, teenage hormones are not very discerning, on hindsight. Actually, more like a lot of hindsight.

Stacking the laundry, I smell the clean detergent aroma, unlike the cough cough, aro-stench, odour filing the living room. Ah, relaxation, maybe I will hide here till you move away?

Hide, yep, we are indeed running away from each other. 

But, do we really want to find each other?

***

She hates me like she hates germs and all things dirty. 

Why do I drink and stay out late? Blame her, that's all I can say. 

All she does is boss me around at home, saying I'm a piece of trash if I do not do her bidding immediately. 

C'mon, the bed need not be made the first thing in the morning, nor the windows be opened the minute, no, second, no no, millisecond I walk out for breakfast. 

Chill, I want to say, but she knows no such word. 

Chill, I tried once, but all she said was that I was lazy. 

Relax, I told her one day, yet all she replied that I was too laidback already. 

Relax, I mutter to myself, yet I cannot do that if she is still in this room, folding clothes to her utmost standard of perfection. 

I roll my eyes, it is time to get water from the kitchen, for my parched mouth. 

Hope I do not mess up her impeccable kitchen. 

(I will not even says our kitchen, but instead her kitchen.)

***

Enough is enough!

You and I are not to be, 

Never meant to be, 

Never supposed to be. 

Oh wait, but I need you, or maybe, I do not know. People will give us strange looks if like, we do not get married, so I guess it is fine?

Yet, your drawer is messy and beyond my ability to neaten it. 

A shirt out of place, you are a failure in comparison to my perfect drawer. 

Now I wish to find you,

But outrage of outrages, you are nowhere to be found.

Why does life never work my way?

-----

I sigh in annoyance outwardly; this is the effect of our hiding in our relationship, I feel. 

It is time to face the truth, seek it out, unearth it from the bottom of our problems. 

Maybe not our problems, but definitely your problems. 

***

She does not care about me anymore, I believe. But only herself. She wills her own way through the house, believing me as the source of all troubles, I think. But only if she knew what she came across as. 

Yet, she is right on one thing: there is indeed one problem, but not in the way she believes it to be. 

Why must my life be controlled by her?

There is only one problem: her problems. 

***

I wander down to the kitchen to find something to drink but alas, you are there too. Pursing my lips, I avoid your gaze but try to observe you out of the corner of my eye. Water eh, sure, do not you dare mess up my kettle, or else-

I grab the cup of the handle against the wall and admire its cleanliness. Ah, dustless rims, clear unstained bodies, and an exquisitely clean interior, a sense of calm overtakes me and I grin, subtly at the cup. 

Yes, indeed a cup gives me more satisfaction than you. 

It takes me awhile to realise that I actually wish to talk to you. Like honestly, this will really benefit us. 

I turn around and walk towards the kitchen stool. 

"All I seek is your understanding!"

***

I smack the glass down on the table but see her sitting there next to me. 

Oh, that look of disappointment about to radiate off her face. 

Oh, only if she could comprehend her controlling nature, the bane of our problems.

"All I seek is your understanding!"

***

And all we seek is the truth. They answer in unison. 

Staring at each other across the table which seems to grow smaller by the moment, their foreheads furrowed, their eyes locked. 

Of course, not locked with love or passion or infatuation, just plain, old, aged hatred. 

Hatred, this old thing that everyone (?) faces, aged and everlasting. 

But once again, they are the same in this way: in their dislike for one another. Like sweet syrup that has gone sour, their relationship, maybe once, nice and perfect, has just dissolved into nothingness and pain. 

Maybe the truth that they both seek is staring them in the face. 

Perhaps, they finally see it. 

The game of hide and seek is now over. 

Actually, they were not hiding physically from each other, they were hiding from the truth that they were never meant to be.