what i almost submitted for my introduction to literature class
I stare into the dull, vacant blur between the walls, recreating reality from my what-ifs. I am back at the last place where I was happy—where the wind blew kites away, where the sun kissed the sea. We walked a kilometer that day—barely out of high school, with wide grins held back and hands aching to touch.
The sky above us seemed to blend into my favorite colors. I swore by the pinks and purples reflected in your eyes. I felt my chest grow tighter and tighter. We got on the Ferris wheel and wished for time to stop. You did not know better, wooing a girl. “I’m afraid of heights,” you reasoned, allowing yourself to hold my hand. I felt my cheeks grow warmer. “Are you okay now?” I asked. You shook your head, arm slipping behind and hand wrapping on my waist. I felt so high, wind lightly swaying us. The sun disappeared, smudging oranges in the deep purple evening.
Soon, the stars started to peek. You looked at me, but only at me, ignoring the depth I bore. In the distance, the auroras changed color, meteors continued to shower. I felt their brilliance, and you. I said no that night, but when you walked me home- the planets aligned.
I tear my eyes away from the dull, vacant blur and raise my head to the clock. It is almost five. Time to go home.
Dodging pedicabs and uneven, sharp edges on the road—my mind wanders off to when it ended. Even stars burn out, you see. I struggled for words over my screaming, broken heart. You and I were tied together, but now you had wriggled free. That night, you flew into the night sky and made off to the stars. I chained myself to the ground and tried to swim up when the world was flooding.
I look back at the basement where you shattered me. I step down a few flights and try to pick myself from the dirt again, ignoring the piercing ache. I still bleed, but I cannot remember your face.
I realize. I really should stop. “I am going now,” were your last words to me. It should have ended there, but here I am—still insisting our sad, graying pearl holds shine. I keep holding on to our what-ifs, recreating them from the reality we once had. Now, even the pinks and purples that once shimmered in your eyes, my hopes that were shooting stars, and your brilliance—have turned into the dull, vacant blur that once was you.
From where I stand—my steps are heavy, light years away. The wind drifts past, combing my hair away. The sea I smell in the air is still the same, my hand still searches for yours. The Ferris wheel still exists, pods swaying from the same wind my hair blows through. It changes colors, with different patterns. Perhaps you were the same.
Oddly, like the dull, vacant blur—I fall into you and snap out of it, forgetting I was ever held in your trance.