A rose and its stem, or its lifeline, stretches from the base of a pitcher two thirds filled with water up into the still atmosphere of this flat and blossoms a radiant red at its zenith. I’m sitting at the table of work, amusement, victuals and study in Ivanečka’s flat in Prague 2 or in what some would call the outskirts of Vinohrady. It’s been just shy of seven weeks from the first time I met her in person. As these nigh-seven weeks have passed, we’ve become more and more consumed with one another. I say this in a decidedly non-cannibalistic way.
I’m not going to attempt any predictions at this moment for our future together, but I will say that we’ve already made extensive plans for the remainder of this year. I’ll also state that there have been no fights, no disagreements and not a single so-called red flag. Some would say that our relationship seems too perfect. I’d say to those who’d say that fuck um.
There is near silence in what I’d call the obývák. She is organizing the contents of the suitcases strewn about the floor and the piles of clothing on the sofa. I don’t mind the silence. Were we at my flat, music would gurgle from some possibly obfuscated source, but here, the distant drone of tumbling laundry and her soft, padding footsteps make sense.
There was also near silence yesterday in Stromovka as we sat slightly overlooking a “lake”. The rustle of the leaves above our heads was enough as we kissed and spoke softly of our present life and a few of the troubles she’s had recently with her family. Why has she had troubles with her family, you ask? Well, because of me, of course!
Lack of sufficient sleep since Saturday or even earlier has me bleary and with a slight pressure behind my eyes. The last few days have been weeks. The last seven weeks have been years. May it always remain so.
