I would let you be

"are you hitting on me?"

"would you let me be?"

How sweetly coincidental our nickname connected to each other, whether they were indeed purely coincidence or just one of demon's ways to tease me like it (now, but weirdly not then) normally does, I couldn't really tell. But hey, I think I've let you know that yes, I would let you be.

What we have are chemistry mathematics and mystics, from the calculation we did on the first trip in that damn cold cloudy Sunday full of delayed trains and long bus trip; to the time when we tried to logically talk each other out from our mysery amid the steaming smoke of our ramen and my hot-chilli-paste hissing.

Ours are astonishment and inopposite attraction, from the way we cursed Milan while at the same time worshipped Maldini; to each and every matching words we typed even before we knew what the other was going to say.

Ours are loneliness and curiousity, from the routine thirst of the other's company; to every minute we've shared listening to the other's story, dreams, and hope.

Ours are not biology nor physics, neither children's game nor barring approach. My adventure, your world. My books, your sports. My wandering mind, your focus. My youth and childish heart, your maturity. My balance, your archer.