Him

“You could have anything you want, you just need to take the first step out of the front door,” he had said to me, a long time ago. I never understood what this meant, but there he watched, from a distance. Waiting.

He was waiting for me, and he didn’t even know it.

His process of waiting, contrary to popular belief, did not consist of sitting on a rock meditating. Although, I’m sure he did do this from time to time, to cleanse his soul and spirit of unnecessary negativity infesting our planet. No, his process of waiting consisted of paving a way, of laying a foundation where I could easily maneuver myself closer to his realm.

He was never going to come to me, he’d made that clear from the start. But he’d make it immensely difficult to stay away — not in the form of an addiction, nor an obsession. Nay, I could put him aside easily and go back to my life at will. I’ve done so countless times, shuffling between him and her; you and I.

Easily.

Why? Because I enjoyed my own company as much as I enjoyed his. I didn’t like him more than I liked myself, but I didn’t like myself less than I liked him. If anything, I felt the exact same way about him as I did about me… and… he felt the exact same way about me as he did about himself.

I’ve never told anyone about him though, not in the way they’d expect, anyhow. I tried, a couple of times, but I could hear their unspoken doubts. The looks on their faces as they wondered, “you’re just two narcissists in love with the ideas of each other, aren’t you?”

I’d questioned that, myself, too. Countless times. Then I looked closer and realized that the self-love we both shared was not a result of self-hatred, it was not a projection to avoid the void. Our self-love was authentic. It was real. It was genuine.

It was…sincere.

Neither of us wanted to cause harm to the other, and neither of us placed the other on a pedestal. Yes, in public, he was the accomplished one with the experience and expertise. He was the one they would turn to in times of need. And I allowed that: he had more energy for the others than I did. He had more…charisma.

But in private, he was mine, and I was his. We were perfect reflections of each other: process of elimination cancelled out our equilateral differences, and together, we were one.

Literally, the same.

Some call it fate, some call it destiny.

I call it math.

But hey, semanitcs, right?

MG

(Creative writing: Him)

Soundtracks

As the sun set behind the clouds on which they’d rested all day, I watched as my planet slowly spun into the shadows. I thought about how years ago, almost centuries ago, when “night fall” was seen as dangerous. When the human species started to fear the “demons” that came out to play — what all started as a simple rustle of a leaf or a flicker of a shadow became sanctioned curfews and implemented sleep schedules through labour and education.

It was merely the break of night, still, glimpses of the sun stealing its last bit of attention before slowly disappearing…

I closed my eyes and listened. My ears tuned into the music of cellos echoing the underlying waves of the beach, the sands under my feet as my toes gripped the shells. My heart tuned into the violins — the distant cries of dolphins, of seagulls, of creatures great and small. My soul tuned into the piano — the sounds of memories, of adventures, of visions and dreams.

That overwhelming feeling of being excited, fearful, adventurous, and free. The agonizing weight as my memories overtook me momentarily, replaced by a hopeful element of what is yet to come.

Walking along the beach, I realized that I was falling in love with the moment, with the experience. I was falling in love with the memory in the making. Neither time nor place mattered. All that mattered was the experience.

I was falling in love with whatever was manifesting inside of me, as the energy started to boil…

It was an exhilarating feeling, one that I wanted to hold for as long as it would, a beautiful resonance I wanted to prolong for as long as time stayed in my hand.

I was falling in love, again and again, with that exact moment in time.Β  As the cello picked up, as the flutes chimed in, as the song took a slow pause to breathe… It picked up again once all the instruments had held on for as long as they possibly could. The song was unfinished, and the resounding note that pulsed through my veins told me that what was unwritten was only unfinished.

I fell in love with that exact moment in time.

And so I journeyed on as the songs transitioned, one after another, after another, after another, until I had enough songs to create an entire soundtrack of all the groundbreaking moments that took my breath away…I traveled, on foot, through the waters, until I had no more fight left in me. Until I had no more energy, no more air.

Until I was suffocated by my own desire to fall in love with moments

I had reached a dead end and realized…all I’d ever wanted was to have a hand to hold as we fell in love with moments…together.

T’was always that simple.

~M.G.~