They say that the most amazing journeys begin with but a single word.
So, which one can I use to begin ours again?
I can’t recall the first time I saw your face, but I recall the most important. The first time I truly saw your face, you were smiling, eyes shining like the stars you loved. The night was young, and so were we. It was not so long ago, yet it feels like an eternity. It felt like a beginning all over again, but was it the beginning of the end?
The last time I saw that smile on your face was just before the rocks shattered the glass walls we had built to separate ourselves from the world.
We sabotaged ourselves with ignorance and summoned the inevitable with our own shortcomings.
Like the rain from the skies they fell over us, destroying with the walls the ground beneath us. Our bridge covered hundreds of miles in a brief, harrowing span of time but could collapse under a single wrong footstep. Every movement was a gamble and every raindrop a waterfall. We couldn’t live any other way. We were too passionate, too young, too naive, and too idealistic. We were two people who could feel no emotion that wasn’t at its most extreme.
I was alone.
I was in a place where even if I could understand anyone, I couldn’t understand myself, and neither could anyone else. I was angry at times, happy at others. I could hate in an instant what I spent a lifetime loving, and I never knew why. I was an unsolvable riddle, and living as such was terrifying.
I was lost.
When I saw you, I saw a kindness, a curiosity, a cracked idealism somewhere within your eyes. You walked with grace and poetry in every step, you smiled such a small smile that radiated enough joy to end a war, and it initiated a ceasefire within me.
I wanted more.
And more you gave me.
My curiosity gave way to passionate learning. Through the flaws of your skin, the words from your mouth, the tales you could weave, the love that you gave, the longing, distant gaze you gave towards the endless skies, I pieced together the key to decode the enigma called u
I was swept away.
You could speak with such ferocity and power that I couldn’t help but reply, willing to discuss everything that I knew just to hear what you’d say. You told me so many stories that transported me into worlds I had never been in.
When you told me you just wanted me to understand who you were, that even though you had your faults you did your best to be a worthwhile person, something clicked in me. Fate, circumstance, identification, a bond, your hand in mine.
I wanted you.
You were still such a mystery even when you were open to me, as if I was given the right to read something that I could not own. I wanted that book to be mine. I wanted to take it with me, to repair it, to complete those lonely pages, to give it the care and attention it deserved.
I was privileged.
You saw inside me better than anyone else could. You said you saw things inside me that you wished you could claim. You saw beauty, charm, brilliance, compassion, loveliness even with my confused sense of being. I had never seen myself as beautiful, charming, brilliant or compassionate, and I could only confirm that I was a loving person because I loved you. I had always lived with myself as an uncomfortable occupier, acting on impulse, trying to bring life to everyone else to compensate for the peace I couldn’t find within me until you placed your hand in mine as if you were the privileged one.
<p>In a nutshell I am either wildly naive or dangerously intelligent. My pen does my talking, my tongue does the listening. Food is my religion, travel is my bible, I stay in touch with my feminine side, while being a tough nut.</p>