18 May 2015

Thinking About You

Do you think of me before you go to sleep the way I do? Do you think about me when you see a beautiful sunset, shimmering across the heavens, painting the sky in glory and leaving you breathless? Does the night sky remind you of those nights we would spend on the grass staring at the diamonds above us, trying to trace our names in stars, losing ourselves in the mind of God. Does the beauty of the world make you think of the beauty that was us, the beauty that was our love.

"Do you think of me when you see a beautiful sunset, shimmering across the heavens, painting the sky in glory and leaving your breathless?"
(c) Wikimedia Commons CC Licence
Does silence remind you of the quiet moments when we looked across the void that seemed infinite the first time you caught my eye but that our souls in a fleeting moment seemed to have crossed with ease? Does your voice whisper the words, I love you, the same way you whispered them in my ear that day, your smile playfully flirting across your face but your eyes betraying the seriousness of your heart. Does your heart stop as mine does at the memory, stop the way it did that day, time seemingly frozen, angels stopping their business all over the universe to listen to me pause, as if forever, then whisper my answer in your ear: je t'aime aussi.

Halting, faltering, stuttering. The words came out of me with a will of their own; flames burning, leaping then dying, hot then cold, burning then consuming themselves much like what we were. Beautiful, inseparable, so right for each other and yet so wrong for each other. Tragic, romantic, enchanting, haunting; our mutual dreams infected by the malady that was us, the beginning that was the end, the end that was the beginning of me after you, forgetting what me before you could have ever have been. Did that exist? A me before you? Yet I must have, yet you must have, but somehow it all seems to start at that moment, that moment when I whispered in your ear and your smile disappeared with the sheer relief of it, only to burst on your face like the sun rising in the east; you were more beautiful than you normally were and all was right in the world. Do you think of that? Cause I have been thinking about you, thinking about forever.

How do I describe you, describe us? Summer days with rain falling on a parched earth, tornadoes sweeping across your room, nights as bright as day, days as dark as night. Simple gestures so full of a love that no amount of money could ever buy, stolen moments, taken whilst God was not watching, secrets, hidden doors leading to memories so precious I only take them out once an eclipse to stare at them in the loud silence of a darkness made bright by the light of your memory. Do you think of that? Do you remember that? Does it call out to you in your dreams in the same plaintive voice that leaves me awake on my bed in the middle of the night, breathless, crying out to be saved, hoping that somehow you can hear my voice from wherever you are, the same way you heard my voice that first time I looked at you, the first time I saw you, the first time I fell for you.

"Nights as bright as day, days as dark as night..."
Does it frighten it you now as it frightened us then? Leave your heart palpitating in your chest fit to burst out of it, were hearts meant to carry such emotion, were veins meant to carry so much feeling coursing through every fibre of your being, making you feel as if the air itself was on fire. Is that what love felt like? There was no word for it then, there are still no words now; words collapse in fear of describing what we were, taking up the task of painting the glory that was you, the glory that was us, the tragedy that was our story of love and loss.

Does loss even begin to describe it? Does pain know the meaning of the word? How could I have survived a heart that seemed to have been shredded to pieces in my breast, broken to bits in my chest, leaking in the tears that came like a torrent, a never ending torrent. Somewhere deep inside the depths of my being, somewhere in deep alleyways that even I do not go, somewhere deep inside my soul, that pain is buried, laid beneath tons of concrete, a headstone with your name adorning the site. It is not dead, I know, it squirms there, a raging fury as potent, as dangerous as it was the day you left me. I remember, how could I forget? You were my first love, perhaps my only love, and the terrain of my heart will always bear your name. Does yours bear mine?

Do you think about me? Do you think about us? I do. I do.

I always shall. 

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