“It isn’t reality, so much as the fantasy I have created in my head.
Conversations that have not taken place, reside like memories–long forgotten but suddenly brought to mind.
Faces ne’er looked on seem like old friends to me.
In this dream world of my creation,
I wait for the reality that prompts me to leave it.”
I could have watched him smoke all night had he chosen to. Each time he took a slow drag of that cigarette, I held my breath. How effortlessly cool he looked.
What a juvenile thing to say–that smoking was somehow cool–but on him it was.
Mostly shrouded in darkness (save for a distant porch light and the small, red glow within his grasp), he had never looked so much like a rebel. I would have had him right there. For a moment that felt like a century, time slowed and we were nothing but matter.
Atoms clumsily fashioned together.
Was the world still turning or was it suspended in time with us? I really do not know, but I followed him inside just the same. As we lazily filled the empty spaces on the couch, I realized that this man waxing eloquent before me possessed so much more passion and depth than I had previously been made aware. True, I’d already known how strong my attraction to him was, but I could not have understood how greatly I loved this man before this night. Rather, I could not have known how much more there was to him to love. (And I realize that with more time, I will be struck by this thought again.) He was not being romantic, but philosophic and it captivated me greater than soft whispers in the dark ever could.
If only I could have captured his every word in writing, forever preserving them. I told him such and he replied, “These words are only meant for you.” Out of everything he said that night “These words are only meant for you” is the only thing my faulty mind chose to remember.
However, he did share a poem he wrote when he was younger. I had him write it inside this journal of mine.
I will savor it and look on it and perhaps it will end up inside my book one day (should he grant me permission to use it). It really is so wonderful.
I read it daily.
He doesn’t know how much I love it and I would loathe telling him, so I shall keep him in the dark to such trivial information.
Goodnight, my lovelies.