Incompetence

I am lazy.

Always tired,

always making mistakes,

and always,

making you clean up after me.

But I can love

with my whole heart.

And I try very hard,

doing things I don’t usually do just for you.

Will you forgive me,

if I give you this broken self of mine

as compensation for this incompetence?

•

Soft humming permeates through the stillness of the room. Fingers that have never seen work are clumsily stirring with a whisk, creating the soft peaks that have been desired ever since the first attempt.

Her eyes light up in delight and she’s giddy while pouring the cloudy foam into another mixing bowl and folding it in with a spatula.

The oven door pops out with a squeak and a small bread tray is pushed in, the metal grating over the rack.

She lets out a hiss when her ungloved hand is exposed to the heat, and pushes the tray in quickly before she is ultimately forced to retract it. The oven door is shut.

The sink runs, water hitting the sides and she reprimands herself for being so overly excited. She sets ice on it and sits back in a chair, nervously looking at the time.

An hour es. She’s laid across the kitchen counter with a shirt that was too large for her draping over her legs. Her head is between her arms, softly snoring when the door clicks, and opens.

She’s up, eyes blinking furiously, trying to orient herself from the quick nap.

Rushing to the door she greets his somberly face, the arms that hold onto her shoulders, and news that crushes her heart.

“Can we break up?”

Then she’s already out the door. Barefoot, running across the hallways of their building. He thinks she is going to the floor above, looking for her friend who lived nearby.

But it was unexpected of her to head to the elevators, sobbing and escaping to the ground floor shoeless.

He wants to run after her. To tell her he didn’t mean it. To put some sneakers over her dainty toes and a coat over her shoulders as he leads her back.

But he can’t. His insecurities compel him not to.

He walks into the flat, and a sweet and succulent smell flows through the room.

He follows it to the kitchen, pulling off his suit and placing his briefcase down on the floor.

It’s a mess. Probably four failed experiments in the trash, a pan left on the counter with a questionable substance clinging to it. Strawberry jam and whipped cream are sitting in another untouched. The sink is piled high with dripping bowls and measuring spoons, rinsed but not completely washed.

And only then he realized why her left hand was so red.

He’s out the door in his socks, running back to the elevator that was coming up again before deciding to take the stairs, going down two at a time.

He’s pushing open the main doors of the complex, and there’s people staring at him in the lobby, but he doesn’t care. He can see her figure.

And his insecurities are now compelling him to do something else.

He has avoided it for a long time.

•

••

•••

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m so sorry..”

“Do you think we can talk?”

•Soona•

••••••••••••

Do you think he reached her? Do you think they should give it another shot?

oyes inspiration stemming from a kokuhaku hahaha