Here is how we meet:
It starts in a room so dim I can only make out faces in the refraction of light off shining surfaces. There is the kind of base that pushes through your chest and seems to echo in your soul. You float across my vision and the world slows down exactly as it does in movies. This is not how the real world works but it’s true, Love, this is how I see you. Everyone else fades. The light plays in the strands of your pale hair and I stop breathing for a moment, an hour, a thousand years. Your dark eyes pass me once but they return. You feel it too. I watch the wonder register on your face; the edge of your lips curl in a smile. My heart decides to beat but it’s moving too fast and I am sure you can hear it. You are a golden thread in my tapestry and I feel you weave strength into my life as you cross the room.
Here is how we love:
Our souls are in a thousand overused clichés and a million old poems; but someone must have understood to put us there so clearly. I am Eurydice to your Orpheus but you do not look back as we rise from the underworld. In my wanderings as Odysseus I deny Circe and return to you, to my home, ever grateful of your strength and clarity. When I came back to where I should be, you whispered, “Nan, sweet Nan,” into my hair and I knew life was my warm Florence. Your strength sweetly marred by your insecurity. My boldness balanced by a tenderness I feel only for you. Together we are formidable; you have pieces of me tucked inside of you. I weave you stories when you ask and it makes you love me more; you swore you could see my wings spread wide with it all.
Here is how we live:
You want quiet on a farm, a simple life of rocking chairs and a harvest from the earth turned by our hands. In our tiny orchard the red, tart apples grow high and lush when the autumn winds call. I watch the world spread out before me and I want to take it in. I want to see each piece of land and every glittering light. I want to taste all the rich flavors that are created and, with a full belly, climb to the top of a mountain to commune with the stars. The air is clean and sweet, the sky is only dark when it rains, our lives are simple and rich with love. We dance through leaves and fly through nights; it’s a give and take but we make both worlds lay down before us. We rule our own destiny, denying cages or boxes, and make the dreams bend to our will. My desire. Your temperance.
Here is the truth I don’t tell you:
On radioactive city streets, under the glare of neon, I am telling you the last story you will ever hear. There is an electronic hum all around; our foundation. The rain is cold and wet down my scalp. It drips from rivers flowing through my dark locks onto your chilled skin. It did not suit to move you; no one can help and the end will come fast. The concrete and steel world we call home feels all the more oppressive. My legs are numb from the cold street corner. We made a mistake and now you pay for the transgression. At least the Neuronia will never touch you; our OXY is low and we are out of WAT. I cannot see the sky; we can never see the sky. You asked me to tell you about us. I am curled over you, my body protecting as much of you as it can, my soul slipping down the drain as the life of you, the very core of you, lifts in layers from your body. You leave me here in this hell alone. Your body relaxes in my arms, the hint of peace on your face, as I spin you this tale. I tell you a story of light. I weave you magic in the dark. I give you my last dream. Us.