Living > Existing

The desire to step outside the boundaries, to venture out of the familiar and known, and to tantalize the fine yet primitive line distinguishing between my self and my identity. There is an incorruptible impulse to be a part of something much larger than myself, to cheat oblivion, and to waltz with the provocative paradigm of living. Existing is a heartless existence, through which it forces you with the idea that going day to day with mundane and repetitive occurrences is a formidable pattern that is worthy of imitation. It is a flirtatious thought that does not ceases to entice you with a lugubrious lifestyle, one that smiles with promise, yet dances with infidelity regarding its possibilities. You can view yourself through a glass mirror, reflecting the thoughts and actions previous, doomed to be on the repeat button, and skipping over the best part of the song. The simple yet visceral motive to be is one that strikes the cord of every individual that breathes, that has blood flowing through his veins, and has a heart that beats.

Day after day, month after month, year after year. Time is nothing but a force that inherently reflects our nature, the characteristics that express our inmost being. Time is also the looming presence that reminds you of wishes unfilled, potential gone to waste, desires unmet, and goals withered to nothing but a mere vacuum, representing the black hole of life. It is a vivid recollection the dreams you painted in your youth that has collected to dust during the times of adulthood and responsibilities. It expresses the tangible but void impulse to ignite the passion that has been lost, the fire that has gone out, and the drive that was once present. Time is untouchable, yet its of quality of permeability is unparalleled.

What causes an individual to stop and smell the flowers, to revel in the beauty of memories, and to smile? When the conscious caution that there is no garden to enjoy the lovely and pixelated aromas of the tulips, roses, and gardenias, the perfume lingeringly in the air; its presence lightly kissing the sense. When the alarming reality that few memories exist where they play on an endless loop, experiencing every thought, every feeling, every moment, and every action as vividly as it occurred. The dismal actuality that smiling is an action that connects the emotions with the mouth, indicating a joyful moment or occasion. Smiling is also an instinct; it is done unconsciously. Such a time is so rare that recalling it akin to remembering moments as an infant. It is a painful reminder that much time has elapsed, but little living has been done.

Living is essential to the human soul. It nourishes the core of human essence. Living is essential to an individual's existence. Living is necessary. It is absolutely necessary.

A Transpiring Between Two Lovers, Part VII

7. Mon Coeur
Can you recall when there are moments when you desire something, but lack the courage to act on it? There are times when an incomprehensible amount of courage is all that is necessary to act upon the desires of one's heart. Then, daydreaming and imagining is no longer necessary.

It was a day of no particular occurrence. The weather was pleasant, the birds were chirping merrily outside my window, and the air had just the right amount of humidity to lightly kiss the skin. However, all these arbitrary observations merely augment what transpired in the following hours. At some point during the day, your name popped in my head and immediately, I was at a loss. I got distracted. I began recalling the details I had memorized: the lovely way the skin under your eyes bunches when your smile, how soft your skin feels when it lightly grazes against mine, the coy smirk when you're thinking of something you deliberate on sharing with me, and how intense your gaze is when you're in conversation. The lustre in your eyes blossoms to an unfathomable hue when you're talking to someone, especially when that person is myself. It suddenly caused me to grow increasingly anxious to see you--to catch sight off all these little details that compose your physical makeup. Unable to stop myself and quench the desire to see you, I picked myself off the couch and made my way towards your room. Reviewing several speeches in my head to imitate smooth prose, I quickly stopped dead in my tracks, my feet planting a full stop a couple of feet away from your door. I recoiled behind the corner when I heard your gregarious and infectious laugh followed by an unfamiliar male's voice. I recognized that laugh; you laugh that way when someone says something you enjoy. I know that because it's a frequent laugh I hear when we're together. The hairs on my arms stuck up like every cell in my body received a dangerous amount of electricity. My heart was beating outside my chest and reverberating loudly. Painstakingly quiet, I listened. I heard him chuckle nervously before clearing his throat. I knew the course he was taking. Where he was going. I gulped loudly. I heard his voice fluctuate before inquiring a date tomorrow evening at a restaurant I certainly knew you disliked. I was fairly sure that my heart would leap out of my chest as I painfully listened for your reply. You sigh sharply, not expecting to enter this situation. You asked him for the time and I could hear the smile in his voice when he gave you a reply. Even though it seemed like your voice was off, you responded with having to double-check your schedule to make sure you're free, but you will definitely let him know. My heart sank. The blood in my veins froze. The rhythmic beating of my heart stopped. a million and questions rushed through my head, but somehow, in the midst of chaotic cacophony, my mind managed to conjure a single coherent word. Why? In a momentary lapse of reason and all known logic, I waited for a couple of moments to pass before approaching you. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, fifty, seven-hundred, two million. The door swung open and shut with a vehement clang. Walking at an impeccably slow pace, I knocked at your door, feeling as lifeless as a corpse yet sensing an exhilaration that was completely alien. You opened the door and I saw how your eyes lit up and you gave me a merry smile. You greeted me so excitedly, I could feel the back of my knees buckle. This was the first I saw you in a couple of weeks. Much time has elapsed since I saw you last. Many things that I wish I could explain, but I couldn't formulate the words. I saw how your face slowly dropped and anger flashed in your eyes.
"Hi," you said coldly to me.
"Hello," I responded warmly, giving her a boyish smile, unsure where this was all coming from. I sensed as though a foreign agent inhabited my body and controlled all my movements and thoughts. 
"What are you doing here?" she asked me with an equally frigid tone. What she was really asking me was why am I here after so much time. 
I don't know why I said it, but I did. "I heard you got asked out on a date."
She didn't respond at first and the expression on her face was blank. After careful consideration, she told me that she was indeed and then inquired how I knew this.
"I was just on my way to come see you and then I heard it."
"Oh really?" She crossed her arms. "Is that so?"
I nodded my head in affirmation. Expecting a question to continue this train of thought, she stared at me with her intense gaze, her eyes unbelievably vivid. 
"Why haven't I seen you?"
I stared at her, flabbergasted, sensing the sudden surge of confidence seep through me, emptying. I looked at the ground, unable to answer her question. 
"Look at me when I'm talking to you," she remarked hoarsely. "I asked you a question."
"I just...couldn't anymore."
"You couldn't what anymore?"
The shrillness in her voice gave me a sensation akin to a women scratching her nails against a chalkboard. I sighed and without revision, I let all the words slip out that I have carefully guarded these past weeks.
"I couldn't look at you without wanting to stare deeply in your beautifully vivid eyes, telling me a story with a mere change in expression. I couldn't be near you without wanting to hold you close to me, your skin near mine, feeling the warmth of your skin against my own, and having the electricity of your silhouette tease my consciousness. I couldn't be with you without wanting so many things that I couldn't afford to desire."
I saw her expression change several times during my speech, but when I finished, she remained quiet. 
"You were the one who said you wanted to be friends and we couldn't continue what we had," she whispered, detecting her voice cracking slightly in the middle. 
"I know that."
"Then why did you say it? Didn't you want to be friends?" She appeared in pain when she posed this question to me, her face contorted in an uncomfortable stance. 
I sighed loudly. "It wasn't enough," I spoke so quietly, I wasn't sure she heard me. I felt her palm on my cheek, sending my body in an unprecedented frenzy. 
"So then why did you push me away?"
I looked at her and her eyes were so warm. "I told myself that you didn't feel the same way and that I couldn't allow myself to like you any longer."
She tossed her a coy smirk. "People can't explain it, but the heart wants what the heart wants."
I permitted myself to take her hand and hold it. I chuckled how preposterous it sounded, but seeing as I was saying stupid things and obviously not acting in my right mind, I asked her: "So, would you like to go to dinner tomorrow evening? That is, as long as you don't have anything planned."
Her response was lightning quick. "I have nothing planned." 

A Transpiring Between Two Lovers, Part VI

6. Mamihlapinatapai 
The look shared by two people desiring to initiate something, but both are reluctant to start. Glassy eyes exchanging a willing yet timid look. Both wanting the same thing yet neither are willing to make the first step. You sit and wait and ponder whether the other person is thinking about you, whether the person is interested in you, and whether the individual will even say something. It is a common feeling yet it is one that is tied with so memories, experiences, and tales. But there is nothing as lovely as looking back when things took flight. 

Does he even like me? Does he think about me? I try to ask myself this as unbiased as possible, and I always come to the same answer: I just don't know anymore. I keep replaying the same scene over and over and over again, attempting to decipher any hidden emotions or meaning behind his words. I keep remember the time we met, how he smiled at me, how he laughed, how his eyes flicked, and the kind way he spoke to me. The memory is as vivid as though it was occurring at the present time. It was at a school event, in December, and I recall seeing him from the corner of my eye. There wasn't anything particularly eye-catching about him except for the fact that I remember his face from running into him a couple of times on campus. I recognize his face and I can recall his voice instantly. The energetic pitch he uses when he explains something he is passionate about, the kind and compassionate tone he has when he is talking and listening to someone, and the overall jubilant voice he has that is pleasant to the ears. I have begun to memorize his features, so to speak, for some particular reason. I would recall certain things about him that I wouldn't have otherwise thought important. Suddenly, I would remember seeing him on campus and being happy for the rest of the day. I didn't even realize the road I was going on until my roommate mentioned my habit of mentioning his name. When she coyly teased me about my affection towards him. On that particular December night, though, I can remember how my heart began racing at the very sight of him, when my cheeks began to fluster when I saw him coming in my direction, and inherently appearing approachable. He continued walking in my direction and I coyly gauged his eyesight, my heart nearly beating out of my chest, wondering if he was ever going to notice me. When he finally looked at me, his eyes locked on my frame, his shoulders perking at the sight of me. A slow smile crawled on his lips as I recognized his deliberate slowing down of pace while walking in my direction. He continued in my direction, my eyes refusing to falter. When he was within close eye sight, I saw his anxiety rising, slightly frightened and slightly elated, and the mixture of expressions in his eyes. I believe at this time I began to grin, although I cannot recall accurately since I was focused on the fact that he was walking towards me, hopefully wanting to talk to me. (Although, I've been told that I couldn't stop beaming.) He finally stopped walking and with his pearlescent teeth beaming at me with a low husky, "Hi." I tossed him an equally flirtatious greeting. I wish I could remember what we discussed; the main thing that I remember is that we talked for a good while. I can easily recall how he smiled warmly at me whenever I spoke, how he laughed heartily whenever I mentioning anything remotely funny, and how his eyes would remain on me the entire time we were together. His eyes never left mine and there was such a security in that; in knowing that he was fully paying attention. When the night came to a close and it was time to bid each other adieu, my stomach dropped and I could sense myself growing weary of his departure. He gave me such a warm and assuring smile that I immediately melted. He told me that this would certainly not be the first and only time we would see each other. I secretly hoped that would turn out to be true. I continued replaying this scene in my mind, searching for clues that would indicate whether or not he harbored any affection towards me. I kept asking myself why he would act so warm, so intentional, so interested if he wasn't. I rattled my brain for any other possibility that could explain his behavior towards me. More than that, I wanted to know if he liked me, if he knew just how much I wanted to be with him. Leaving myself with these thoughts for an extended period of time, I scolded myself for going down such avenues. It is possible that his behavior is linked to many things, none of them including affection and interest towards me. Slightly defeated and sad, I decided to take my mind of things with a film. Just as I was about to pick a cheesy romantic comedy, I heard the doorbell ring. That's strange, I thought, I wasn't expecting anyone and my roommate is out of town. I opened to the door and to my astonishment, he was standing in front of me, his face flustered. He seemed to be out of breath and appeared to be excited and anxious in a perplexing mixture. He gazed directly at me, his eyes piercing my soul. I attempted to think of all reasons as to why he was standing at the door, but none could prepare what he was about to say. "I like you. I really like you. I haven't stopped thinking about you since I met you. You haven't escaped my thoughts at all. If I'm awake or asleep, you're in mind and I'm asking you to rid me of this. Will you be my girlfriend?" My automatic response was yes. Finally. This is what I have been waiting for. 

A Transpiring Between Two Lovers, Part V

5. Chilly Memories 

When you look back in time, you often recall memories that you desire to live it out vicariously a thousand times more. The emotions are that much more visceral, the sensations are just as palpable, and the gazes are just as intense. You still remember how you felt, what you sensed, how you looked at him, and stolen glances exchanged in secret. The recollection is so wonderful that you just want to relive over and over again.

Today was the day of the Winter Carnival. The university puts on this lavish carnival of sorts to celebrate the winter equinox. There are games with prizes, contents, hoards of food, but most importantly, an opulent dance. It is the most famous dance of the year because it is also the most expensive production. The place is decorated with expensive decorations and serves delicious hors d'oeuvres, it is usually lit up to evoke a magical winter night, and everyone dresses up in beautiful long gowns and handsome suits. This is the event the ladies have been waiting all year for and the chance for the guys to ask out that particular girl. Needless to say, it is truly a big deal. I was particularly excited since I actually had a reason to go and decided to get glammed up with hair, makeup, and shoes. I really didn't know what to expect, what I was going to do, or even what the protocol was. I was just so excited to go with the one person I desired to ask me. And he did. 

"So, are you excited to go?" my roommate asked me. I tossed her a strange look that implied that I was truly indeed excited and happy to go, but before I could, there was a knock at the door. My eyes quickly flashed to the door and this unexpected queasiness overwhelmed me. I was struck with a mixture of many emotions: happiness, excitement, contentment, and anxiousness. I didn't know how to react to this sudden rise of sentiment, so I remained in my tracks, frozen, immobile, unable to move. 

My roommate smiled to herself once she recognized my internal qualm and went to the door. Hearing her voice rise in excitement told me that he had arrived, my date was standing at the door, waiting for me. I could hear muffled chatter in the foyer followed by an excited exclamation. I was curious to find out what this was about, so I made my way to the foyer, facing him for the first time in days. I wasn't sure why I was so nervous. I talked to him a couple of days ago. We chatted about pizza, Thailand, and upcoming exams. It was nonchalant, relaxed, and pleasant. Right now, however, I was suddenly nervous to face him in my formal attire, with my hair done, and my natural beauty enhanced by cosmetics. 

The moment we locked gazes, the air in his lungs escaped, his eyes were intense, and he was unable to move. He smoothed a strand of hair and cleared his throat. He looked at me with an unreadable expression, his eyes warm and inviting, and with a wide grin, he said, "You look absolutely beautiful."

I could feel the temperature in my cheeks rising as he uttered those words. I barely mustered the words to reply. I still felt his gaze on me. "Here," he said, extending his arm towards me, "this is for you." I moved closer towards him and the object became more clear. It was a a clip with fake pearls and an ornate flower. I was puzzled and he registered my thought when I looked at him. "Corsets are so cliche," he said to me, slightly exasperated at the cheesiness of the gesture. "So, I got you a flower pin instead." "How did you know that it matched my dress?" I asked him, a smirk slowly building. His cheeks turned beet red. "I, um...I asked your roommate." I gently squeezed his arm, touched by his thoughtfulness. With a slightly jittery hand (at least to my perceptive observation), he placed the pin in my hair and kept his unwavering gaze on my face. He ran his finger down my cheek. With a warm expression in his eyes and his eyes locking with mine, this was a moment I didn't want to end. I just wanted to stay like this forever, him looking at me with such a warm and affectionate gaze. It took me a moment to recognize that I barely observed his attire. In a fitted suit with a striped cravat, nice Italian leather shoes, and a pin similar to mine placed above his pocket, it was quite clear that he was visually appealing. With his tall stature and his suit highlighting his lean body, it was difficult to remind myself that I was accompanying him, that he's my date. He was dressed so formally, so nicely. Returning my gaze to him, he whispered huskily, "I can't believe how beautiful my date is." I batted my eyelashes at the unexpected compliment and sensed a grin forming from the corners of my lips. I said the same to him. 

But in that moment, I felt something rising, something much bigger than myself, than us, than this particular night. 

"I am so glad you're mine."

"I am so glad to be yours," I said to him, looking directly in his warm and compassionate eyes. 

A Transpiring Between Two Lovers, Part IV

4. Welcome Home

Home is something that cannot be quite described. The definition is highly contingent upon the person's perspective of what home means and the image it illicit. But ultimately, it is the one place that every person desires to go. When things are good, when things are bad, home is home. Regardless of what life was like, there is one thing irrevocably true about home: it changes us. 

My love, do you remember that one crisp December night, when we had that argument? The one that I thought for sure that we would never speak again, never love each other again, and never be with each other from that moment forward? Yes, that one. We were arguing outside my doorstep and you spoke your final piece and leaped inside and slammed the door, right in your face, with a loud smack, reverberating loudly and its visceral reminder of words being unspoken resonating deeply beyond the few inches we stood. I run upstairs and clutched my pillow, heart wrenching sobs escaping my chest and hot tears trickling down my cheeks as I buried my head in my pillow, with the hopes that my broken heart would somehow be remedied with the comfort of soft cotton. Minutes passed by, transpiring into hours. And with my heart broken, I was more hurt and upset at the prospect that I would never speak to you again, I would hear you laugh again after fumbling over a jumbled sentence or something silly, and I would never see you smile again at me. I hated that even more than whatever it was we were arguing about; that wasn't as important as much as I liked you. Or loved you, even without me knowing what it was I feeling. I jumped out my bed, flung a thin jacket on, and biked to your dorm building. While setting my bike beside the brick wall, I caught a glimpse of your face. I had never seen you appearing so grim, so defeated, so sad, as if you lost the most important thing. Your brow was furrowed, your eyes drooped, and your frown was deep. You've never looked sadder. I realized then that I never wanted to see you like that again, so utterly dejected. I approached slowly and when you heard the crumpling snow, you looked up and our eye contact was met with a sense of urgency and homecoming. We ran towards each other and wrapped my arms around you. I never wanted to leave your arms again, to depart from your embrace. You placed your hands on my face and whispered only a few words that still remain embedded in my memory. "Let's never depart from each other again." You hugged me once more, your arms tighter against my waist and your head resting on my shoulders. I felt like I was returning home. I was being welcomed home. 

A Transpiring Between Two Lovers, Part III

3. Among Friends
It has often been said that when you are among close friends, you are among family. I've always pondered whether that was just a remark used when family had let you down or when the company of friends is more uplifting than that of your own flesh and blood. I was most surprised to find out that it had nothing to do with family ties or the commonalities or anything that ties and binds. It is simply about being the midst of those you love and those who love you being in their lives from the most trifling circumstances to the most important life events.

M: Hello? Are you there? I can only talk for a little while.
F: Oh, I am so glad that we're finally able to chat! Some time has passed since we've last spoken.
M: Yes, yes, I know. Timing is very fragile for me.
F: I'm aware of that. Tell me everything that has gone through your mind since we've last spoken.
M: For the time that I've spent here, I was set on the idea that these are people that I am acquainted with, but I have no intention of being friends with. However, the more time I've spent with them, talking with them, engaging in dangerous situations (as it usually happens over here), I've realized that we all have very similar stories and interests. We've began to realize that we are not quite that dissimilar as we originally thought. The most profound discussions happen late at night, cuddled by the warm fire, under the starry night, when our minds drift to where our hearts lie, and we would say whatever was our minds. We would talk about everything: from life back home, to the girl waiting for us back home, to memories, to where life will lead us after this, and to just reflections on the day. Recently, we've all managed to pitch in and buy local instruments and once we have finished using words to express ourselves, we would pick up the nearest instrument and begin playing. It doesn't sound very lovely, but the way our thoughts are expressed through music is profound.
F: That sounds absolutely lovely, my dear. I've never once wished that you would be alone over there. I've always longed that you would interact and make friends, certainly not to replace the ones you have, but rather because we are social creatures and are designed to interact with one another.
M: You always know just what to say.
F: I actually visited some of our friends last weekend.
M: You did? You drove down there for the weekend?
F: I did. They were all there, gathered together, and since I didn't know when the next time this would happen, I figured I might as well. It was wonderful, to see all of us gathered together. It felt just like old times. There was a massive feast, so we dined outside, in the backyard, with beautiful lights illuminating through the late night sky. We looked through old pictures, talked about old memories, discussed many college memories. It felt so wonderful being there.
M: Oh, how I miss them. How I wished that I was there, with them all. Did you tell them how it pained me that I wasn't there?
F: Of course I did. I told them you were away and that we must do this again somehow, when you're back home. 
M: I'm sorry that I wasn't there. How I wished I wasn't away so I could been in the company of good friends. 
F: My love, fret not, for they assured me that this would certainly not be the last time we would gather together. While we were looking over old pictures, there was an old file they showed me. I didn't know you did photography for a while. I knew you enjoyed it and liked doing it, but you never told me that you seriously considered it as a business venture. You mentioned before that it was something you wanted to do, but couldn't see yourself doing it professionally since it's more of a hobby. They showed me a compilation of old photographs you used to take. There were various pictures ranging from a ferris wheel in the sunset at a carnival to a crashing wave. Most of them were scenic. And then, there was one particular picture that stuck out to me. It was a candid photograph of a young woman sitting in a coffee shop wearing a red cable knit sweater reading a book while drinking a cup of coffee. 
M: It was something I used to do to express myself individually. The more busy I got, the less I did it until I stopped entirely. That photograph was taken in December at a nearby coffee shop, not far from campus. I don't know what it was about her that struck me about her. Perhaps it was the way the red sweater contrasted against her hair or the fact that in a busy coffee shop she appeared so serene and dissolved in her novel that it was mesmerizing. I didn't see her face since her head was cradled between the pages of her book, so I never found out who it was.
F: Did you ever think about her after that?
M: Not extensively. It was more the picture that stayed with me and I wondered if I were ever see her again. Naturally, that doesn't matter in the slightest since I have you.
F: Thank you, my dear, for capturing me on that stuffy December day. 
M: The girl in the picture is you?!
F: Indeed it is. The red sweater was given to me by my ex-boyfriend shortly before our relationship ended. Then I never wore the sweater again since I found no reason to. That's why you never saw that sweater again.
M: I cannot believe that you are that girl in the photograph. The chances of you being here is almost uncanny.
F: Of course I would never mention back then that I saw you walking the coffee shop, but I didn't give you a second thought. I knew exactly who you were.
M: Oh, my darling! You have the ability to make me smile thousands of miles away. Unfortunately, I must bid you adieu. Give my warmest hellos to them and let them that I will be returning shortly. I love you, my mysterious, photogenic, and utterly beautiful woman. I will be with you in a very short time. 
F: I love you, my handsome. I love you.

 

A Transpiring Between Two Lovers, Part II

2. Eye Contact
We are often told that the eyes are the window to the soul, but just how much do they let us see? The importance of eye contact cannot be overlooked, since gazing at someone can irrevocably change the course of someone's life. There is a puzzling action that follows eye contact, as some describe it akin to a surge of electricity pulsing through one's veins, proclaiming it to be a very dangerous thing. But, oh so lovely. The eyes speak more than the mouth is willing to say. 

My love, can I let you in on a little secret? My time here has recently permitted me to observe the culture and the importance of not simply looking at someone, but rather creating eye contact, in a reverential way of communicating that I am listening to you and I am focusing all my attention on you. You would always tell me that it's not enough to just look at you, but to see you. I want to recall everything that went on, everything that I was thinking when I first laid eyes on you. When we first locked eyes. But first, I have to tell you that the first time I saw you wasn't that brisk October afternoon, but it was a warm Spring day in April. However, using your language, I first saw you in October, while I merely noticed you in April. But, my, you certainly made an impression on me. It is remarkable how a beautiful young woman wearing a red skirt, lace top, and sandals can imprint so profusely in my mind. Your long wavy hair blowing in the wind, the aroma of your perfume lingering in the air...I nearly stopped to take it all in. You were walking from the other end of campus with a big smile on your face. I remember that because I couldn't grasp how anyone could look so beautiful smiling. It was infectious; your smile tempted my mouth to curl and grin because you made it look so nice, so natural, so lovely. Your hair got caught in your mouth and you tried your best to make it look like it wasn't a big deal. You shook your head and flipped your hair, the sunlight radiating off your chocolate brown hair. The light waves cascading on your warm shoulders. As our paths nearly intersected, you kept your head down, glancing at something while you walked. Then, just as I made my way to you, you looked up and locked eyes with me. The intensity of your gaze nearly raptured my disguised coolness. The warm combination of green and brown hues in your eyes was impeccably mixed to create a gentle hazel color. You kept your gaze on me as we walked past each other, curling a strand of hair behind your ear. Then you looked down again. I wondered what was going on through you mind at that present moment. Did you notice anything about me? Did you notice me at all? Did you think about me after that? I surely thought about you since then. I long wondered who you were, whether I'd see you, and hoping that our paths would cross again. I wondered if it was possible for time to stand still. It was only a mere seconds of looking at you and you looking at me, but I felt that an eternity had passed before we finally broke eye contact. I couldn't fathom the way your gaze did not wither or search for my eyes. You looked as if you were staring at the depths of my soul. I told myself that should I see you again, I would talk to that pretty girl...and that fateful October day came...I still remember every detail about you the first time I saw you, from the way you chuckled quietly to yourself about something you were thinking, the way your outfit perfectly matched, and how unpretentious you looked as you were walking through a cobble-stone sidewalk among fields of green. Your image remained etched in my mind until I finally saw you again. My heart beat just as quickly as it did when I first saw you. I'm always thinking of you, my beautiful beloved. I'm looking forward to when I'll see you again with my eyes rather than staring at your pictures in my journal. I love you. I'll be coming home soon. 

A Transpiring Between Two Lovers, Part I

1. Hearts Connected by Distance

This post was created in my most mundane class, glancing at the window and wondering how the warm sunshine breeds joy and the sensation of light rays kissing the skin. Lying on the grass and glancing at the sky, pondering infinite possibilities. By simply turning to my left, my imagination stirred. This marks the first of a short story about two lovers separated by distance and how they are patiently waiting to reunite. Set in a contemporary setting with archaic language dripping with romantic poetic syntax, these two lovers communicate in a way that transcends the heresy of old-fashioned love.

Female: Hi!

Male: Hello!

F: I miss you.

M: I miss you too.

F: When will you return? My heart aches being separated from you.

M: Oh, my love, if only you understood the depth of pain I suffer at the mere thought that we are not together. I will come back to you.

F: Hurry soon. 

M: If I had the ability to be with you right now, I would have returned a long time ago. I would be in your arms.

F: There are times when I want to rush and tell you an event that happened or something I discovered as soon as it happened. But I can’t. I have to recall the story to you. I don’t like being so far away from you. You are my proper half and you are not with me.

M: Please, my love, don’t speak like that. My heart cannot bear it. I will be with you in a short while. It won’t be long before we are reunited.

F: I’ll wait for your arrival. I cannot wait to hug you, to touch your hair, to feel your arms around my waist, to finally be with you once again. I never knew it was possible to miss a single person so dearly. I see you in everything and at everything I look at. There is not a single instance where I am not reminded of you.

M: Merely looking at the sun, the moon, the oasis of a beach, it cannot compare to your beauty. Gazing at it sends a rushing force down my entire body and compels my body to cripple with awe. I am reminded of you in everything. There is not a moment where I don’t miss you. My throat throbs at the mention of your name, the hairs on my arms stand up when your face enters my mind, and my chest begins to beat violently whenever I think about you. My heart belongs to you.

F: I love you so very much.

M: I love you.