I didn’t hate you when we broke up (called it quits, ended things, decided to see other people, wanted to take a break, whatever you’ve been calling it — we broke apart). I couldn’t bear to do so. You and I spent nearly six years together — in arguments, in twisted sheets, in awkward family gatherings, in unforgettable little moments. We made each other happy, through most of it, and that was enough. Until it wasn’t anymore.
When we met, our lives collided and burst, unlike anything that anyone had experienced before, or dreamed possible. I tread the waters carefully when I said my first “hello”, knowing without knowing that a word even slightly off would ruin me. I learned your name and the color of your eyes, while you uncovered what made me most nervous (the size of the crowds, when you wore your hair in that way).
You kissed me first because my hands were shaking. The wind was warm, the stars were out.
It was raining on the morning I told you I loved you for the first time. So much so that most people chose to stay indoors — to spend the day doing paperwork or catching up on films or spending time with their families. That morning, I woke up wishing that I was holding your hand, and could have sworn my heartbeat was in rhythm with the raindrops. I gathered my things (an umbrella, my bike lock, my bag and a dry sweater) and felt a tug at my heart as I locked the door to my apartment. As though I was leaving a life behind. I guess I was.
You opened the door and the corners of your mouth turned upward in a way that I still sometimes dream about.
Years sauntered passed and you remarked that it felt like we were old people, remembering the past already as though there was nothing else to sustain us. You told me stories by the fireside in our bedroom and I imagined that you were referring to us. You said of course they were, but that I never listened well enough — they weren’t always fairy tales.
When you ended it (I blindly agreed that I had been feeling the same way, though of course it was only you), the sun was shining. I cut through the park back to my place, thinking that I better get there as quickly as possible, and could smell the cherry blossoms, even from the pathway. I walked 2.73 miles and collapsed to the floor. It was three o’clock in the morning before I even tried giving in to the slumber that beckoned me. I heaved several sporadic, enormous gasping breaths, my body wanting me to cry. Begging me to release the fear, and the sadness that overwhelmed me. I refused to give in. The world outside of me began to brighten as I fell, at last, into sleep. My descent into dreams was much harsher and more terrifying than anything I could have expected. I was falling, always falling, into the arms of specters and phantoms and then dropped, again and again. Unwanted. Even by them. They melted through me in inky wisps. Or maybe I melted through them.
For months, I was convinced that you had made a mistake. That you only needed some time to think things over, and soon enough, you would miss me. Because what else did we have but each other? What else did I have but you?
If we were different people, it might have worked out. In some other universe where some ghost who looks and dresses like me lives, but where the stars are in the sea and there are oceans in the skies, in my might-have-been other-life, maybe we held hands until the day we died. But that’s not what happened. When our star burst and sent our dust from whatever far reaches of the galaxy we were sleeping in to where we are now, we were lucky enough to have been brought together. Even for such a brief time.
It hurts a lot more often than I’m prepared to admit, but even so, my heart still beats. Some times with the rhythm of the raindrops, but mostly with the rhythm of other things. Like melodies and footsteps, and someone else’s breathing. Our souls are resilient was something a stranger I tried to love once said to me. They were laughing, holding a cigarette between their fingers. I don’t remember their name or their face, or even where or how we met, but that haunted me. Four words out of an entire night-time experience.
I have everything else but you. And eventually, that will be okay.
I began this a few nights ago with a single paragraph and no real plot behind it. Over a few days, and several bumps along the way, it blossomed into this.
I don’t have names or backgrounds or descriptions for the characters in this — I’m not even sure if they’re male/female. It doesn’t really matter, because the emotions are the same for everyone. All of those things are up to *you* to decide. REmix away!
You have a poetic sensibility and an ability to see beyond the day to day. You often seem to be living in a higher realm, or to be not-of-this-earth. Occasionally you imagine interior lives for friends and associates that are near-complete fabrications based on your fears or hopes for the future. You are often not aware of your own feelings. You have a strong sense of right and wrong, and because of this are often disappointed. Despite what can sometimes be a destructive inward-turning anger, you are very gentle. You are sometimes a bit out of touch with the ebb and flow of modern life. If your behavior is out of synch with your moral values, a severe psychic disturbance can result. Because connectivity is so important to you, you can become quiet and sulky if you feel that others around do not understand your point of view.
“I believe that imagination is stronger than knowledge. That myth is more potent than history. That dreams are more powerful than facts. That hope always triumphs over experience. That laughter is the only cure for grief. And I believe that love is stronger than death.”—Robert Fulghum (All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten)
If we were different people, it might have worked out. In some other universe where some ghost who looks and dresses like me lives, but where the stars are in the sea and there are oceans in the skies, in my might-have-been other-life, maybe we held hands until the day we died.
Hahahahaha! We have a mind link, obviously. I am in tune with you now, Phen!
Guh, that rain scene, though. I get chills every single time. Is it a bit sad that I know the dialogue by heart. Because I completely do!
Now you've got me wanting to pop in my DVD! Ha!
:D we must!
Same here. I’ve seen this movie so many times, can recite it practically word for word — and still that scene just swells my heart right up. Every time.
“Do you love me?” She whispered into the crook of his neck, as they laid underneath purple sheets, making their nighttime darkness even darker. They reveled in their solitude.
“I do,” he said. “I do love you.” He felt her lips shift into a smile. “I love you, too.” She said carefully, walking her fingers along his collarbone. He looked at her and smiled in return. “You are my favorite monster.” He was her favorite kind of poetry. The chestnut brown, constant mess which was his hair — left in turmoil from running his hands through it whenever concentrating. His unnaturally dark eyes, and the languid movement of his mouth when he spoke.
“Do you remember what I told you when we first met?” He asked this quietly, as though sharing a secret, though they were quite alone. “I do,” she answered, grinning once more into his skin. “Say it again.” “Of all the adventures in all the world; of all the demons to conquer and the monsters to make and the stories to tell — There is nothing quite so magical,” he paused, traced the angle of her jaw, and kissed her. “As the adventure of you.”