The Egg Part III: Scrambled

She looked up from her table. The bells chimed. He pushed open the door.
“You’re late.”
“I know.” He pulled the chair across from her out and sat down. She smiled and he smiled. Then both of them laughed.
The waiter walked over and she asked for more coffee. He nodded to make it two. The waiter left and then came back with the drinks. She tore the lid off a container of cream and he added sugar. She then grabbed a spoon and began to stir, almost violently. He just let his cup sit there.
“How are you?” she asked.
“I’m fine.”
“Are you getting married? Everyone is talking about it.”
“What?”
He felt like smiling, but he lacked the strength to move his facial muscles. She sat there, looking calm and composed like always. Neither of them knew how or when, but slowly, the tears began to fall.
She was crying silently as the tears rolled down her face and clung to the hair cascading down her shoulders. Her makeup began to run as it smudged and mingled with her tears, creating patterns as it dribbled down her cheeks.
He ran his fingers through his hair, catching hold and tearing through the tangles, so that he wouldn’t be tempted to reach for her. They sat there awkwardly.
All outside the café, it continued to rain, an attempt to drown out the sirens, the traffic and the voices as the neon signs blazed weakly in the gray.
Around them, the air was warm and stuffy, for the heat in the café was turned far too high. The potted plants drew flies, their soft buzz noticeable over the clanking of the silverware.
Neither of them said anything.
Slowly, once the tears had dried, she began to move, gathering her purse and swinging it up over her shoulder. He pushed back his chair, grabbed his briefcase and followed her out the door.
The bells chimed. “Thank you for coming,” floated above the traffic noise on the street.
They were holding hands as they walked down and across the road. It was the only form of relief they’d been given. The ability to go unnoticed in a crowd.
She wasn’t going to say it and neither would he. It was too delicate and strong a chain that was wrapped around them. Even though they both thought that the two of them should have been one person or had no relation at all. Then they would have been on the same playing field as everyone else at least.
God’s a bastard, though. It was still raining as they left.

The Egg Part II: Whites

He was late and was running. The rain was still trickling down and clinging against him in its desperate attempt to assimilate into his skin. The city around him was grey, as the cement slowly leeched away from the ground and started to surround him. It was raining like the heavens were dying, as the sky slowly started to slide and tilt down toward the earth in its broken realization of disintegration.
He looked a mess on the outside, water dripping down into his eyes, tie flapping as her ran, briefcase swinging at his side. On the inside, he was a child. He would play around with people and the words they spoke in a reluctant from of exercise.
The water rose up as the cars dragged their wheels through the puddles, splashing those who were in the vicinity. He was soaked, and yet still completely fashionable in a suit as always.
He kept sneaking glances of hidden crevasses as he ran past them. It was a boy’s game to imagine what treasure could be found hidden around you. He was still a boy, and he exploited that and the freedom it came with. It was a dream to laugh wildly and not care what people thought
There’s always art built in around the body and its surroundings. The sound of traffic as it bounces and curves around the hollow shape of the ears, and its affect on the sense of danger.
He hated the boundaries he was confined to by living. The unspoken rules as they wedged themselves deep into the skin and stuck like a rash that would never leave. He smiled, for she was always telling him that’s why he could never grow up.
He couldn’t though. Not while something sharp was stabbing him in the heart. He bit down and could taste blood. That’s all he was ever eating now, just the blood produced from rage as it overtook him.
He could see the café now.

The Egg Part I: Yolk

She sat there at the table in the café, her coffee untouched, slightly off side of her elbows where they were perched on the table as she watched the world through the window. The people outside were always running, even more so today due to the rain. Recently, it always seemed to be raining, as if God couldn’t stop crying. She almost felt like letting tears fall as well, but she lacked the willpower to muster enough emotion.
On the outside, she looked refined and polished. On the inside, she was dead. She hummed like a well-oiled machine as she waited.
The inside of the world surrounding her was warm, with its usual abundance of potted plants and empty dishes, abandoned by people as they, too, began to run to some unknown destination. The atmosphere was sunny, like a comforting memory as it enveloped its dreamers, creating a particular state of mind that welcomed the consumption of it.
She was a dreamer, as she sat there admiring the soft reflection of her face. A dull, washed-out version of herself through the windows. Her colouring was dark and pale, the two shades trying to match her personality but failing to make an impact. She could see the fine spider-like lines as they traced the edges of her skin, forming the gentle movement that was her face.
She smiled softly. She laughed quietly. Still, she didn’t touch her coffee, and eventually the waiter asked if she was done with it. She told him to leave it, and so he did. Slowly, she began to rip the sugar packets apart and dump them into the liquid, creating a sugary sludge that she stirred it with a spoon.
Then she began to drink.
She loved her face and hated her body. For they were wrong in a way that was right, for it didn’t seem to match him. However, society accepted this relation the two of them had. Society accepted it, yet would not allow her that one pleasure.
She finished the drink and set the cup down with a thud.
She wished that she’d been born as part of him, that she’d been born as his heart. Because then she could always stay with him.

The Egg

The shell so delicately breakable
with a creamy white lace trim.
The outside looks so feminine,
so shatterable like glass
yet the yolk runs so thickly yellow,
hard to separate
the stubborn substances inside
and determine what to make of it.