(Half) A World Out Of Reach
I sit here, a hunched-over skeleton burning alive as I watch the ink bleed from this pen. I think about where I am and how distance is more than just miles. I close my eyes to see the darkness of my lids, only to find myself locked into your gaze. The kind of darkness that always seems to hold the promise of light. The kind of darkness I love to get lost in.
I lose myself to the moment we first shared the same room, and how two separate bodies could contain joint mystery and desire.
We exchanged glances and grins while our hearts thumped a nervous beat louder than any stereo that night. In that moment, I found you were different and knew I would discover why.
I lose myself to the years that passed in both a sudden blink and slow flutter. We grew to welcome the miles into our arms as a placeholder for what our bodies couldn’t fill. I couldn’t see you, couldn’t touch you, but I found comfort in the thought of you.
I lose myself to the sight of your silhouette transforming into a shadow, the brightest I have seen, as you are finally here. We drift together like hungry ocean waves, gaining power and passion as we embrace. My lungs burst, and I drown in the moment.
My eyes open to the radiance of this page. Fixated on the contract of white paper, black ink, I find I am taller. I find my skeletal bones have gained the strength to grow, to expand, to move forward, move up. I find I am tender. Stronger, but softer. My eyes see what is present, rather than looking for what is gone.
There is beauty in being lost.
There is brilliance in being found.