Another Story

It was the wonderful year of 2001. And that year's February mirrored the February's of years past, it filled the senses with anticipated romance.
That year's February 5 however, was too humid and warm to be anything romantic. At 9 am, expecting a cool breeze is like seeing a drizzle of rainbow colored water, yourself in a perfect alternate dimension, or a demi-god prince who has all the power to sweep you off the ground you stand on. Being the optimist, dreamer cum idealist that I am, I tried to expect all of it. I stood unmoving, waiting for the miracle to occur. And it did.
Let's not be silly. Of course there was no sea-fresh breeze, no shower of psychedelic water and no portal to show me my perfect universe either. But there he was. He stood right before my eyes. My demi-god prince who gave me yet another distinct definition for the word levitate.
I would tell myself, twenty-four months from that day: I have officially gone mad. Although I never did deny that fact, I just never thought I would be foolish enough for him.
Come to think of it, he was--is I mean--ordinary. He wore ordinary clothes, had an ordinary hairstyle, and had an ordinary gait. My vision tricked my heart I suppose. Or was it the other way around? It simply makes me miserable thinking how can it be that he had such an extraordinary effect on me?
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I stood there that fateful February day, with only two sentences in my mind: "Who is this man? Why am I scared that if I exhale, he will vanish forever?"
Well, I did exhale as nature commands that I should. He did not vanish though, well not in a snap. He did that in a slow fluid execution. One day, he turned his back on me and walked away. Funny how a growing blur can be potently painful.
I knew that was it, like some cartoon light bulb flashing, I knew that was it: the final nail to pierce my heart. In an instant, breathing became synonymous to numbness, alienation, despair. I forgot to smile sincerely, wholeheartedly, honestly. I forgot I was alive. I forgot that happiness was not him entirely.
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The first time I saw him, he seemed to be the potential summation of all my happiness. I shamelessly assumed he was the flesh of a promise of some great divine being. I was convinced. I saw beauty. His whole body spoke of confidence and of frank masculinity. His keenly chiseled face encased eyes of an unforgiving shade of brown and lips boasting of familiarity with ways.
Those lips smiled at me. I suppose he doesn't remember. Now I am thinking, the smile may not even be meant for me. That smile may just be a spillover from a pleasant thought. But I held on to that, for two years.
Stupid me.
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Those two years were nothing short of a roller coaster ride. He was like dessert: soothing, delicious, wicked. Most of the time he was like chemotherapy: hard-core pain, and definitely not a guarantee of cure.
He drove me crazy.
He made me hang on.
But hanging on can be tiring. The sear of unwanted pain becomes a staple. Happy memories fade.
But then again, were they even at all happy?
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Did I say he wore faded shirts all the time? I liked his red shirt much, the one that turned almost pink with time. I wondered then if he hangs on to his shirts as much as he can hang on to me.
Wishful thinking.
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We never really got to know each other that well. Yards and meters of space were like an uncontrolled barrier. A great amount of time was spent just looking at each other. Words didn't seem important. It was so romantic.
It sucks big time now.
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What stopped him?
What stopped me?
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I want a cigarette. He will be the smoke. He will fade. I will still be here.
I just wonder, is he still there.
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I have officially gone mad.
I am still waiting.
= = = alchemista bonita