Narnia

I remember the sound of buses wailing as it zooms past us, nullifying the noises of street vendors that seem to be begging for our attention. But we paid them no mind, you see, this was way back from a time when we have the entire world screaming at us but all we hear is each other’s voices. As if the horizon that is blocked by tall buildings and footbridges were primer backdrops of the image of you. You, the muse to my shaking fingertips, the bringer of sleep.

I remember you ask a question, we do this a lot, a plethora of what-ifs, thinking about a million different situations and yet we always see them in a way that us being together makes the most sense. I remember you ask that sort of question, as we walk our way to the movies.

“If we get thrown into another world, like Narnia. Where everything is really beautiful and perfect. Will you go back here, on Earth?” you asked.

I took my time, pretending like I never asked myself that question before. Like I haven’t felt the same way for as long as I can remember. Like I wouldn’t answer it the same way now, even if it’s not Narnia, but some abysmal hellhole as long as I get to be with you.

“No,” I answered, “I think I wouldn’t, how about you?” I diverted the question.

“I’d go back,” you answered quickly as if it was the most natural thing, “I’ll miss home,” you said.

I remember we kept walking after that, moved on to a different topic, went to see a movie, went home as you slept the whole bus ride on my arms. I remember all of them fading, trying to hold on as if they weren’t already gone. And on good days like this, when the idea of her didn’t feel like ghosts crawling from the insides of my stomach. On good days like this, when you are able to write something that isn’t a synonym of the word, devastation or ruined or really really really sad. On good days like this, I like to imagine myself as Narnia. Your Narnia.

How you came out of nowhere dressed in hope and a beautiful smile, how you arrived in the eternal winter of me and whispered spring into every flower, how you brought out the lion in me that I thought was just a mirage of my mind. How you left just as quickly, like you just walked across a wardrobe, leaving a kingdom that has no queen, behind.

On good days like this, I remind myself that I was never home to you, and it’s not my fault that it isn’t. Maybe the breeze blew a little too coldly or the water never tasted familiar. And it still fucking hurts to bear with that fact. Oh well, at least I get to have a good Regina Spektor song. At least I’ll have that.