Over a 3-hour lunch, we mused over my current state of affair, amongst many other things.

"Perhaps you two were not meant to understand," she said as she glanced into the distance and her brows furrowed slightly. "And that neither of you will ever do."

She pursed her lips, like she always did when she was deep in thought.

"Then again, it could just be the miscommunicating bit you talked about."

Is it? I wondered.

Is it possible – when both parties are as sincere as they can be and speaking from the bottom of their hearts – that the gulf between the both of them keeps growing wider even when they mean what they say? I doubt it.

Perhaps we do not really know each other that well after all.

Or that we now know who the other is, contrary to the impressions we had independently formed.

* * * * * *

I remembered what she said before.

"I always thought bubbles were most beautiful just before they burst. More so when they nestle in the palm of your hand… before they burst. And if you are careful enough… sometimes… you can cradle them… "

Sometimes. More often than not?

And she could only cry as the bubble settled in her palm one last time and disappeared.