Will i ever stop writing about you ? I wonder.
Today I listened to that song and I gave myself the permission to try and write down the notes in C Minor.
It's like Matt sang it for you that one time during practice; and liked it too much to record it again. It's not meant to be covered, I sense.
You cross my mind at random times of the month; when my brain freezes and things get lost on my desk at work; when I notice that the merry-go-round at the far marina is turning so slow as if it was trying to turn against the wheels of time.
And when I glance at the dried up drops of tears on my steering wheel while waiting on the signal.
I forget to wipe it every time.
You, so orange and simple, changed me in ways that I can't describe and...took your quarters in my heart like you've belonged there all along.
You don't know, because I never told you, and I can't.
You won't know that when I hit rock bottom, the lowest point of my angst and confusion; when my heart was torn and desolate,
I glanced at you,
Raving about so happily, when you should've known more than anyone else, that life is much more complicated and exhaustive to spend the little breaks it gives us on trivial dissipation, and to allow ourselves to be deceived and soothed into temporary moments of fake satisfaction.
Why were you so happy, pray tell?
Did you ever notice when I wasn't around ? Because I do.
You floated like a feather, in a beautiful world.
And why was I unable to see the colors of this life just the same? You and I, why were we so similar yet so different on countless levels?
Such cruelty on your part to rub my misery on my face with such ease and indifference.
How
Did you manage to be so content with so little?
I never knew back then why you indulged so much in the little joys of life; but it touched my heart nonetheless, your boyish shenanigans, and I laughed along, while rivers ran down my cheeks.
It was like magic. Consolation in the form of a human being, you. A walking lesson with a beating heart on what really matters and what doesn't.
I've wanted you to read that passage where Tomas said that Teresa occupied the entirety of his "poetic memory" though he was perfectly capable of loving other women besides her own; but I doubt you would've understood what I wanted to convey; you had trouble with my savage way of bending vocabulary; as you so have casually put, once.
I don't think I can ever explain how and why I came to love your person; and how it's something more precious than any kind of bond I'll ever make in my life. That it doesn't matter us not being able to be together anymore, how it wouldn't nullify or prevent my love for another, how knowing you changed my perception of life, how I have sat my mind into crossing lengths on your account, how I held the bow because of you,
How that weight I vowed to carry as long as I'm breathing is yet so pleasantly light.
Every corner of my soul knows that this is how I truly feel right now. I'm leaving this here because I want to remember this feeling in 20 years.
Looking back, you were just a child trapped in an adult's body, weren't you?
wanted to escape a dark reality that you dreaded way more than the darkness growing within you...and you knew.
Now I understand that you did live with much zeal because you knew, you wanted to bliss and be blessed, just like Ippolit as he laughed hysterically with tears in his eyes and dread in his heart at Madam Epanchin.
She must have known as well.
Will I ever stop writing about you ?
Probably not. Thou art my lute, and the thought of you creeps up my cold feet in quite nights when sleep escapes my clutch. I'd write and write and write volumes of this revolution that you stirred, this... arson that you started, before taking off ,I shall write about the you that lives in my heart.
Because....really, what is life but an encounter ?
A condensed instant of infinity?
"ﻣﺎ ﻣﻌﻨﻰ ﺃﻥ ﻧﺤﻴﺎ..ﻭﻻ ﻧﺪﺭﻯ ﺑﺄﻥ ﺍﻟﻌﺸﻖ ﻗﺪ ﻳﺒﻘﻰ ﺳﺠﻴﻨﺎً ﻓﻰ ﺍﻟﺨﻼﻳﺎ"
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