In the blink of an eye, I was gone. Like a shooting star you might miss if you’re distracted. But I wasn’t distracted and I didn’t miss it. I opened my eyes and saw that beautiful awe-inspiring star in motion and fell painfully in love with him.
No. Not with him but with the idea of him. That was it for me. And to think I almost missed everything. I saw him and I was gone, forever. There was no looking back anymore. The past didn’t exist; it was just a distant concept. Abstracted beyond recognition.
Like a car crash.
All the memories and experiences that came before him became irrelevant, meaningless and vulgar.
I only needed to think of him or meet him in my unconsciousness for my whole body to shiver and spasm. It came to a point that it became physically painful just to read his words. Just to feel his touch.
My unconscious became like a safety blanket; the only way I could live. The air became thin and reality too.
I eventually stopped trying to define the line between consciousness and the space you occupied in me. Our space. Our very own utopia if you will.
Like a cloud.
Like your arms.
I’ve always thought people are better in the abstract and after we met, after we touched, after we kissed; I still feel the same. I still think of you in the abstract.
It’s like a defense mechanism. My soul cannot take another disappointment. Another incongruity between the ideas I have of another human being and it’s reality.
Isn’t my reality what I think of him and not what he thinks of himself?
In the end, we don’t really occupy the same space in time; we don’t really occupy the same space in the universe.
We live separate lives.
We live different lies.
The only thing we have that’s real, that’s tangible and that we can hold on to is that week, that day, that touch, and that kiss. The only thing that’s ours is that moment that seemed to stretch forever into the cosmos, bending time and space. The only thing I know for sure is that I felt like an astronaut, an outsider. I feel like an explorer of your being.
When I close my eyes, I don’t think of you as a whole but rather a construction of details. When I close my eyes, I don’t think of myself as a whole but rather a fragment missing its form.
Like your eyes.
Like our freckles.