In a slippery downward trajectory from where your face first appeared I remember you, cloaked in Gothic black and inked with your story, a tale of lows reacting to highs that some of us have never had the chance to reach.
I remember your story and the ending as if it was just a new beginning for us to entertain; within all of that lay a pool of uncertainty, tainted by fear and wallowing in unforgotten alienation.
Tattoo’d as if you had to hurry out the words before they would be unremembered. Laying now on a single raft in the middle of the ocean, I can see the horizon as if it were a touch away, just out of reach but obtainable.
If there was a chance that we could meet again, start over and begin our conversation, would you take it? Back in the past when we had more to do than argue over the strength of tea, when it wasn’t unusual to gaze into each other’s eyes and face the steely wind as one.
Burning like the sun; a soul dying like a dead star reaching its final crescendo. I thought of you when it exploded, and a million tiny particles scattered across the universe. That is how we see each other, not an apparent couple who are attuned to the unfortunate way of appealing to others, but as an extinguished star, there but imagined, broken and yet put together with magical stardust.
If we could create an understanding with the universe then we could give the singing sparrows something to cheer about; instead we rely on daily dredge and upset Sunday papers to tell us what to expect of the world.
Notably, we are placed in a corner and expected to fight, then to stand and depict a scene that is beneficial for everyone. We have forgotten how to be individual, and must all sing from the same song sheet., but what if that little lone voice inside roars a disapproval? What if it suddenly becomes a necessity to overcome the emotions of wishing that everything could be the same and wanting to jump up and scream at the top of your lungs that you are you, and nothing can change that fact?
We are within reach of becoming unique, yet we are drilled to accept the mediocrity of a singular existence. I remember you, and all of the things that you said to me in your sleep. Those sweet nothings that gave me a cause to leap up out of slumber and become aware that you are more than worth the angelic lights that shimmer as you speak.