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yes, your hand in mine…
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so i am not writing this because there is jackfruit near my reach and that it is your favorite fruit. and im not writing this because i have grown this fondness of this little bones covered with feathers. i write because i miss you and i miss you in such a way that i sleep the nights feeling this unwrapping of fabric, skin, sweat and breathes. the bus we took was filled with people i always noticed when i was alone. there was someone preaching. there were mothers and sons sitting so close without talking to each other. there were students starving and wanting to arrive home for lunch in no time. there were sad people and i did not look at them because i was looking at your lips. and you were looking into mine. i miss looking at your lips and how we could just talk for hours and just share silence on the same manner that we could chat about mornings, societies, being so different yet so alike, education system, madness, magic… and blitzkrieg (& my dream all-female, all angsty metal band). the bus we took gave us this perfect view of the clouds and how we admitted things we can kill for like freedom, love, emancipation and getting lost. we were not there to judge nor to pluck each other petal by petal and see the core. but yes, we were there to find each other. and in finding you, in finding me (despite the many walls we’ve tried to build brick by brick), we found our kind of dream that we silently thrown in the sky and never hoped to fall back…in return. but IT STILL did.
i miss you. and i don’t know for how long this shall last. i don’t want to think about it. i miss most the way you laugh at my accent when i am attempting to express something exaggerated, the manner your eyes wander on my face when we were so close that we almost sniffed each other pore by pore, the way i tell you “been stumbling down and suddenly you make me feel i can fly” and your face says “awwww” and we’ll just hug and sigh, the rawness of your frown when you’re disappointed or i did stupid things that were against your principles. i miss this little boy’s face full of wonder and adoration when i tell you about ordinary people and special moments—ordinary moments and special people. i miss the feeling of being with someone with a beautiful soul that everything else in the world felt colliding in rhyme and wine. i miss you. i miss us. i miss how you remind me that life is not unkind for those who are weak. how you appreciate me more when i’m willing to be vulnerable.
the bus that we took was red. there was a Martial Arts movie playing in hisses. there was an old man stealing glances at you, he was pretending to read the local news. maybe he was reading about the elections. there were two kids stealing glances at you, amused by your strangeness. the bus we took was not too slow and the clouds that day were free and fluffy. the night ago, the sky was pregnant with stars and there were fireflies. we said we were not ready for tomorrow. the bus carried you. i think we carried on from the different terminals we arrived at. i don’t know why buses came to be or why dreams were not taught that much via the academe.
but in the place where we found each other, motion sickness was not a deal. gravity could be tamed. and there, im happy i met you. and that, for a lifetime, i won’t forget how you have taught me to flap the wings i once traded for a roof and some hinges and chains.
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she likes seashore naps and the view of everything from the bus window. she likes tiny moments and the small spaces between faces when people talk.
sometimes, she wakes up to that odd feeling of being a fallen leaf, an old tree, an azotea or a waitress somewhere-- talking to a taxicab driver about that random song on the radio.
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and this. a proof that:
how you see LIFE is how
you actually see YOUR self.
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maddening spurt:
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“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!”
-Jack Kerouac-
