February 14th, 1990
To the soft velvet stylings of cosmic crooners, I lament the lonesome hours spent yearning for a touch I may have never known. To exist out of time and out of space, I feel some sort of sentimentality for experiences I’ve never known in this life, which I am meant to service. Despite these faults, it all still feels much too real and much, much too close. Whether or not we all live a singular existence before fading away or we return, time and time again, to repeat the same mistakes we’ve already made while blaming our problems on others, I may never know. What I do know is that I find myself pulled in a direction that is not cardinal; instead, it is something that defies such a simplistic explanation.
There’s a feeling—just a feeling. A very strong feeling. As if the images themselves, memories that do not belong to me, gently glide across the surface of my mind, both demanding my attention and evading my notice. What was it that I just saw? What was it that I just felt? Will I ever know?
I feel kisses along my shoulders, up my neck, and behind my ear. I feel fingers glide across my skin, dancing in a doting manner. I feel arms wrap around me, embracing me as if that was their only purpose. I feel legs rub against my own as a pair of feet affectionately tug at my sock. I feel a soft breath brush past my cheek as words that are meant only for me refuse to register, and the image fades, leaving nothing but shallow darkness behind.
We’ve taken strolls, side by side, hand in hand. We’ve window shopped for different lives we’d never live. We’ve eaten off of each other’s plates without ever sharing a bite. We’ve chatted for hours without really talking about anything. We’ve shared discussions that delve deeper than any university’s philosophy class, all without speaking a single word. We’ve shared music back and forth, attuning to one another’s rhythms but not changing our own. I know me, and I knew you, but who are we?
When the night sets in, the veil grows thin. Things get clearer, and I see all sorts that I’m not meant to see. Indeed, there are myriad horrors that torment me, trying to drag me deep into the pits of hell in efforts to coerce me into my own demise—to rot like putrid flesh. But still I carry on, chasing after the forbidden knowledge. The lingering experiences of someone else, not quite myself. Am I wrong? Am I damned? I’ve never known true happiness, and somehow I feel as if I could taste it. It’s right there. Right there.
You walk up to me and adjust my coat because you know I don’t pay enough attention to myself, but the truth is I never will because I prefer your way of doing these kinds of things. It’s as cold as Fimbulwinter, but I’m warm with you. Walking the streets dressed in warm yellow lights as familiar tunes play through shop speakers. You prefer holding hands to wearing gloves, so I have to keep your hand in my pocket. No matter how close, no matter how much time we spend together, we never seem to be satisfied. Gluttons for love and only love.
As we sat parked in a hideaway spot, listening to my old school records while talking about our problems and the lives we wanted to build. I’ve never known a moment of stress with you. Funny to say because without you I know nothing but. But you know something? I don’t remember anything but you. There wasn’t the latest this or that trend nor fad occupying my mind. The troubles in the world were far beyond the measure of a mere man, and so ignorant to them did I remain. We were cool. We stayed cool. Whatever it was, we could laugh it off. If ever you shed a tear, I’d wipe it away, and we’d be right back where we left off. I remember when you didn’t take that job because you’d rather your time be spent with me. You believed in me more than anyone I’ve ever known, and somehow I still carry just a little bit of that with me even now. The troubles are all repeating themselves again, but you’re not here with me this time. I don’t know how to persevere. I don’t know if I even can. How does a clock function with only one hand? How do I live my life without you?
And if I kept your picture in my wallet, it’s no longer there. And if I had a ring on my finger, that finger is now bare. And if your toothbrush was next to mine, there’s only one in the stand. And if your shoes were mixed up with mine, four has become only two. And if you were ever really with me, two is now just one.
What I wouldn’t give for just one night. Just one. One night together.
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