It was an early summer evening, I still remember, or twilight as she’d call it, with the sun burning up in blues, purples, rich goldens, all those pretty colors all at once as if it couldn’t decide on a single color to be, and she was laughing. No giggles, mind you, it was full blown, all out laughter, the kind that starts deep in your belly and travels up with the same feeling you get when you see your favorite person in the whole wide world, the feeling you get when you hug them, the feeling I got whenever she was around.
And I was looking at her, and I remember smiling so hard my cheeks felt they’d split open like pomegranates hitting concrete, but I didn’t care because she was so beautiful, I could hardly think of anything else.
How incredibly cliché, you must be thinking, but that was what we were, an incredibly cliché, heartbreakingly tragic summer love, that’s all we were. I realized I loved her in the summer, and almost exactly an year later, I had to let go of her, forever, but all the time we spent together, it was summer.
Even in the winters, it was summer.
Autumn, spring, rains and thunderstorms, they were all a never ending stretch of summer with her, because she was my sun, my moon, my thunder clouds and every particle of starlight, she was all of the universe and I was just boring old, physics-loving me, but I loved her with every atom and all of my force field.
With her, nothing made sense, and yet everything did. The world stopped working according to laws and algorithms, and physics and logic ceased to exist, but it all carried on fueled by the sheer power of her voice as she talked about the funniest things in the world, things I’d never believed in before her gypsy soul.
Sometimes I think the end shouldn’t have come as such a surprise to me, doesn’t logic say that nothing lasts forever? But I hoped, prayed even, that we would, because oh God, she felt like waking up from a coma I’d been in all my life, like the first sight of a rainbow after a lifetime of blindness. Nothing prepared me for the end, and nothing ever will, I guess, because every time I think of her it’s the same all over again, that feeling of being skinned and gutted alive and set on fire while someone keeps pouring vinegar all over you.
Oh, and you’re locked in a tiny closet.
I don’t regret anything though, I’d go over a million times this pain if I had to, but lord, I’d cut off both my arms, sell my goddamned soul even, anything to see her once again, hug her maybe.
I know it’s not possible, but I think about it all the time these days, you know, about meeting her again, about what if I do come across her. On an abandoned beach, or maybe on the swings of an old park late at night where it’s just us two, and we’ll look down on the stars and the moon for once, and they’ll envy us, eat their hearts out wishing for a love like ours, but that only happens once in infinity, doesn’t it?
And I was the lucky one.
Image taken from here.