I feel as though this is inevitable. Inescapable; as though everyone who knows you must reach this point at some time or another, when the feels within them have grown too large to ignore.
The seeds were sown so early in our acquaintance. It was so simple to fall for you – like breathing – one glimpse and I was lost, though I had yet to recognise it or truly understand the extent and depth of what I was getting myself into. Call me naïve, if you want, for I unquestioningly followed that initial surge of endorphins, my dopamine receptors on a screaming high, and rushed headlong into this, my brain filled with no other thought but you.
I was consumed. I remain consumed.
These days I struggle to frame a single thought without first referring to you in my mind, as though by thinking of you I could gauge your response. Or as though the small number of amassed facts I know about you (hoarded like magpie’s treasure) could ever substitute for the real thing, and yet I can’t help myself.
So many times I revel in your nearness and glory in the fact that you chose me, and keep choosing me as someone you come to. You even seem to enjoy spending time with me. The way you communicate and put things to me makes life seem sparklywonderful and brimming with promise. You whisper such sweet nothings as to make my heart soar and my spirit leap with excitement.
You vow to take me along on your next adventure and I’m immediately transported in wonder at what that might mean – will we go to a sun-kissed beach and walk together and run in and out of the waves and find exotic shells to decorate ourselves with? Will we anoint one another with salt-water as the sun turns the ocean to rippling fire and dips beyond the axis of the Earth? Will we huddle warmly under well-used blankets, sandy limbs tangled as the stars begin to make themselves seen and the murmur of water lapping the shore soundtracks our quiet conversation?
Or will it be forest this time, with gothic green canopy, trees bedecked with emerald moss, bearded with lichen and absolutely bursting with life? Will our half-smiles and wide-eyed wonder be seen by the birds as we watch them singing for each other; for the day; for life itself? Will there be butterflies flapping in vague panic as we rush past, whooping and hollering to climb to the top of a tree and crow that we made it – that we can see for miles?
Might it be a hidden summer’s dream, where the wild flowers grow and bees sing sweet music in honeysuckle hedgerows? Where the grass is richly scented under the heat of midday sun and tiny clouds bejewel the sky so bright and blue it might have been freshly laundered and draped across the heavens to dry.
Perhaps in that time you might let me close, so close I can smell your scent on the breeze. As I stop, stunned by your nearness, I see you – eyes a-glimmer with the light of throwing caution and common-sense to the wind, and you are tantalising; so tempting I can almost taste the apple’s juice, fresh on your perfect lips.
Alas, you are fickle, and perhaps have other priorities, for it seems I often come last; the one you turn to when your toys have grown boring and better people are already busy elsewhere. Perhaps that isn’t fair, for when you visit me it’s wonderful and I immerse myself in every second – cherishing each for I know they’ll soon be gone and I shall be left wanting, and wanting you.
But when you are gone, the days feel duller and harder to get through. I spend my time wistfully thinking of ways to entice you back, and drawing a frustrating blank. I resent the amount of head-space it takes to think about you and yet I don’t want to stop – I never want to stop.
When you leave me for too long, and I end up staring at the screen, trying to will you into being, wishing I wasn’t so hooked into you and wondering why I bother, I feel useless. Everything I do then is so clumsy and unrefined, and even as I attempt, loathing rises within me like bile and I silently curse your absence. You make me a better person and without you I am diminished.
I vow to neglect you then – to treat you as you have treated me – by ignoring you and pretending I don’t see you there, your presence like a vicious magnet, torturing me with the knowledge that you also see me, and have chosen not to engage. I crack first. I always crack first.
With careful nonchalance I reach out, hoping against hope that this isn’t one of the times when you brush me off. That this might be a time of indulgence, of gorging on your very presence and drinking in the thoughts you impart. That this might be a time of sharing; of ease in each other’s presence; of light.
Will you talk to me or disappear without so much as acknowledging my presence?
Will we wonder together until anything seems possible or will I be left in darkness?
Will you stay with me a while?
My muse; Imagination.