Trail of Ants

As I sit and write, I am alone. Reb, the girl I’ve coined ‘my muse‘, my ‘garrulous pillion‘, my ‘ubiquitous sidekick‘, but never the truth - for literary mystery - my girlfriend, is gone. She sits in Singapore. I sit in India. Eight months prior, in China, we exchanged our preconceived views on those who fell into a relationship versus our destiny of travelling solo. We agreed they were foolish, that our trips were first and foremost and if we were to meet anyone they would have to fit like stray islands to our stubborn coastlines. We laughed, before taking a solitary moment to look at our reflections in the night bus window, to try and convince ourselves it’s how we really felt. The next three months, the kisses and telltale looks were under ‘Mission Secret Squirrel’, we cloaked the unthinkable from everyone - that we’d fallen for each other. After a six week goodbye, we accidentally-on-purpose found ourselves sharing Christmas together and the squirrel was demoted. We were a couple. We laughed at our Chinese prophecies, and I proudly held her hand in front of friends and family alike. Four months later I held the same hands, as they trembled. I kissed the moist, swollen pink lids of her eyes and broke my final promise. I looked back. Continue reading ‘My Muse’