Where could be the most romantic place where two strangers are destined to meet and then fall in love? At the coffee shops? Book stores? Galleries? Perhaps, under the street lights. These are the most places I visit so nonetheless, I don't have anything on the list. Who could have thought anyway?
We met in the bus travelling to south. I, with a book and he, with his favorite baseball cap. With dead eyes and russet skin, high but attractive he sat on the empty seat beside me.
Radio played. I closed the book.
"The song is great anyway so it is worth closing the book." He muttered.
"That's Bon Iver... it will always worth it."
He rested his gaze on me before we exchanged names.
We never know when love will exist in one’s life. And my veins, filled with both blood and dust of past that forever flows within me. The eyes, maybe seen as four but every time I look at the mirror I always face loneliness that strives and beat me to sleep. My body never learned to demand for rest, but for love.
And the very next day starts giving me hopes and reasons for me to try. At first I doubt but I don't care anymore. I took the risk, ignore what Mom had said. Because I knew it was love. It doesn't matter if it is worth taking the risk or not because I knew... that by the way his smile suddenly swims in the oceans of photographs inside my head it means love. Just by looking at the waves kissing the shore it reminds me of his touch! And I already knew it was love by the moment he held my hand and we both catch the mess of the world.
It was love.
Our odyssey maybe tough but we didn't run. Some perhaps rushed but we enjoyed every second of our voyage. Instead of crushing down my walls, he painted them with memories and posted pictures of our escapades. We made music together. What a perfect love we had, he was a painter while I create music about his works.
And I started to doubt.
Years passed by, little by little, the smiles that used to drown in my head slowly faded away. The waves stopped kissing the shores. And... he let go of my hand. Who could have thought? His paintings gave me clues of his near goodbyes. My walls lost their colors. And our music became pistols, a signal to stop.
He left and never ca
me back.
I went back where everything started and thought, did it ever begin? Was there really a lanky man who sat beside me on my travel to south? Did the radio play Bon Iver's? Did love really occur?
I'm travelling to south, with a book...
11/30/16
11:37 am