Lamar got the Pulitzer. They gave Bob Dylan a noble prize. Everyone’s trying to understand the universe in binaries of yin and yang when words and people are actually made up of traces. So why does it surprise you when I tell you I find traces of everything that I have ever loved before you or will love after you, within you. This is a story of as much poetry as it is prose. It is never the good decisions in our lives that make us who we are, it is the bad ones, eyes shot emerald green were mine. We were nascent, displaying future potential instantaneously, like the wasp nibbling at the fig we became inseparable, the love rising in a crescendo, operating on a celestial plane it had felt that the planets had aligned themselves in our favour and so we, infinitesimally inconsequential specks of dust in this interstellar reality decided to take a walk among the astral bodies.
“What if we fall in love?”
“What if we fly.”
Like words, they couldn’t pin us down to a single meaning, we transcended all boundaries when we refused to be labeled because I was making sure if you were anything more than an antidote to my boredom. Dialects and accents are like ideologies and idiosyncratic beliefs, if our beds were allegories for who we were, together we would be epochal and timeless. From the Marian worldview of things, we were brought together by forces of nature so strong, you were exciting and I fell for you when we stood there looking back in time, where the light from our ancestors reached us and when we witnessed the most beautiful sunset in two decades but most of all I fell for you amongst fleeting moments of sharing kisses and sharing sunsets. You became a mirage in the middle of parched land that was torn apart by days of drought, my deference and loyalties for you all built on an abstraction. We smirned it off though, most of our time together, we talked in zeugmas and ellipsis’. Together we would be an ensemble, two epicureans but the fatalistic truth at the atomic level was that we couldn’t breathe in each other’s spaces, we were like asymptotes in nature. So, we called it quits at beautiful before things could turn ugly, what an anticlimactic ending to an otherwise beautiful fairytale. My memory had performed a positive anachronism to place you in places you never existed, in times, in situations, among feelings, people and sensations and that had somehow enhanced your importance in my life greatly. One day, we meet somebody and then we lose them and we spend our whole lives believing that we could recreate a touch or a kiss. My sweet disposition, I knew I couldn’t make you stay but you almost had me moonstruck. Maybe we can’t feel full and complete because we’re made up of emptiness, maybe her poetry is fragmented because she’s broken but I will write about you in my almanack and then I will move on because maybe you did bring Love in the great abyss but Maybe I didn’t need a light. Maybe I needed a lighter. So, ask me out for a night or a lifetime.
The world suffers from Stockholm syndrome, finding their freedom in bondage, I was so stupid to think I could have been any different. I’m attaching my existence to you, even if that means, staying in this world. . To the moon and back, I’ve got your back.
I think it might rain today,
I pray for it to rain today.