A note for Daisy.

Daisy,

By the time you read this, i’ve already fallen in love with you. It’s among the mysterious things i don’t understand about myself. And this may sound like a suicide note, but i want you to know, Daisy, by the time you read this, i’ve already fallen in love with you.

And i want you to kiss me, or me to kiss you in the place that tickles you most, so we’d be fair. You made me fall for you, i tickle your.. nah, it doesn’t rhyme.

Daisy, what is the score now. 0 -1? 1 – 0? They say love isn’t a game, but i swear to you it does feel like one, not because you’re winning or i’m losing to you, but the excitement to imagine you smiling, among the brightest smiles you ever shown to yourself, Daisy.

You really like me liking you, don’t you?

Daisy, it doesn’t matter if this happens too fast, or too slow, or never happened to you and you don’t feel what i feel, because by the time you read this, i want you to know i’ve already fallen in love with you.

As strange as this may sound, i wrote this on the sheet in my head during a lunch with a friend. We were sitting in a restaurant, talking of course, but i was flying between the chairs and tablecloths, reaching you somewhere in the back of the restaurant, but you were not there. He didn’t know. Christopher Tock, that’s his name. Firdauz, that’s mine. Daisy, obviously isn’t yours.

Daisy, although obviously this name isn’t yours, but by the time you read this, i want you to know, i’ve already fallen in love with you.

Love is a suicide. And this is the note, Daisy.

***

In a fail attempt to write a fiction with the theme being a gay love, i had named a fictional character Daisy, inspired by the pink roses on the table, and the Querelle poster hanging on the wall.

Over the pumpkin soup that i sipped with a spoon — and the garlic bread i dipped in it — i had thought that if i were a gay, i would have written my loved one a suicide note.

And this was it.