016 | february sixteenth

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whatever happened to the young lovers?

whatever happened to the young lovers?

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The heart is greedy.

That was what you told me today.

The moon was shining high in the sky, its light dousing the town in silver. I can still picture the way you stared up at it. Your eyes were alight with the same stars that shone above us, twinkling fires. Some days, I realised, those stars dimmed to embers.

     But not in the sky.

     In your eyes.

     Tonight, though, they were bright and burning. You sat beside me, our fingers brushing together. I can feel the remaining tingles; that always happens when our skin touch each other. Sparks travel through my veins, and it feels like I'm alive. Like I'm right here in the moment— like I'm simply human.

Touching you makes me feel grounded to the earth that we live on.

I notice that you don't want to be here.

You don't want to be on the ground.

You want to be able to fly. To spread your arms and fly across the sky. Like the birds.

     Unfortunately, we are humans.

     We are children of the ground.

     Our feet never leave the dirt beneath us.

You spoke about life. Nothing philosophical. Just life— in general. Your day, your nights, your colleagues, your patients. You talked and talked, telling me about the most simple of things. I listened and listened, absorbing every little thing you gave me.

     You lolled your head to the side.

     I could feel the breath in my throat pause.

     Brown eyes stared into me. I felt you penetrate my soul. I think— no, I know. You could see everything. Every part of me.

     The parts I hide.

     The parts I keep a secret.

     And the parts that I fake.

     You could see it all.

     Your lips parted— they looked so pink, plush, so kissable.

     You said something. I can't remember it. Ask me to recite what you said, and I would be left clueless. No words registered in my mind. The only thing I could think about was you. You and your beautiful eyes. You and your beautiful smile. You and your beautiful lips. You and your beautiful universe, the one that appears to live inside you. The stars, the moonlight, the planets. It circles inside you. Around your pupils. It encompasses me.

     Like gravity, I am pulled towards you.

And it's nights like these that I so desperately wish to curl up next to you.

Neither of us could sleep, neither of us were welcome to enter Somnus' palace— you gave me a book about him. It said he was the personification of sleep, the deity that graced all. We were not allowed any entry. And so we sat at our bench, blessed by the moon's effervescent guidance.

I wonder, if I laid my head on your chest, my ear pressed to your skin, the sound of your heartbeat pumping blood, would I be able to find an entrance? Do you think we could build our own palace and seek solace there?

I think we could.

If we weren't grounded.

Instead, a gap sits between us.

A metaphysical force keeps us away. I wonder if that is our own doing.

28 and 29.

Those two numbers appear in my head.

I'm not sure why.

I'm sure I'll remember another day.

Until then, allow me to remember you and solely you under the murky twilight.

In the morning, I'll be a day closer to you.

february • eren yeagerWhere stories live. Discover now