The eternality in our ephemerality

Chapter 54. No matter how much I deviate I know the end of my journey

A gust sprinted out of my shuddering lips.

I breathed hard one more time ... I shook my hair and ran my hand through it.

Memories flooded my mind, clear as day. Like polaroids bombarding my mind, the memories begun to be played in my mind again. Images in high definition and sound, images to which my heart's blood supply fiercely stopped and I was left stunned by them:

The plain room where we first met, the parties and school days we endured together, the words we shared, the looks, the hopes, the beating of his heart, the way he talked to me with his eyes.... It all meant nothing if i knew it was not real. If the idea of me and him was not a possibility.  

There was something in that pocket, maybe as important as the person who brought such trouble: a pocket belonging to that specific person.

Without the slightest bit of precaution, I woke up from my bed with quizzical eyes and a frantic expression: the same expression a brute and maniac shares when what they most desire is caught up within their grasp...

No time could be spared. I sprinted up the wooden smoked stairs: hopped two at a time, each step longer than any breath, longer than any flutter...longer than any heartbeat. 

The burning expanded: a raging fire that commenced within my legs and reached the very core within me... step after step it guzzled my movements, within them, my sanity.

I was scorched.

Sprint after sprint, the burning increased.

Acid gobbled my flesh.

Oxygen increased my muscle calcination.

A feeble sensation of distress could be reflected upon my eyes....

My hands desperately yanked open the drawers of my closet. I searched through my clothes, tossing them aside in a frenzy, looking for one specific item: a hoodie that felt incredibly important. I had to find it. 

I checked my drawers, under the bed, in the laundry, even in my pajama drawer and secret hiding spot.

I paced around my room, desperate. I looked at all directions until suddely, my eyes settled on that piece of clothing that made my life so miserable. The hoodie blossomed on top of all the other items, almost appearing to suffice its vanity and superiority.  I found it nestled among my other belongings, almost as if it knew it was special.

The Dartmouth Hoodie.

I grabbed the hoodie tightly, my fingers delicately inspecting each stitch and curve. The scent of it was nostalgic, but as I examined it, confusion clouded my mind. I set the hoodie aside, but my fingers betrayed me and reached into the pocket again.

Inside, they found a rough paper note. My eyes examined the discovery, unsure of what to think, they inspected it with much more determination: a handwriting, that appeared more like scribbles, could be found. Despite its poor condition, I unfolded it and squinted at the scribbled handwriting, trying to make out the words. I opened it with no precaution and desperately read the traces of ink manipulated to form a couple of sentences:

If you ever find this crippled piece of yellow square,

I did not walk out on you. Whoever hurted you, is a biological fool.

For that reason, i must protect you. You may not know me, you may never read this but please forgive me for whatever I must do. I have to protect you alejandra. I've sworn it and my name depends on it, literally. You probably won't understand it, you might not even read this. But If this note ever reaches you I would like you to know that, as foolish as it sounds.

You are a fool and so am I.

I suppose something must be terribly wrong with us for me to suppose that you are the one I was sent to find.

Don't fall. 

S

The note crippled in my fingers, my lips fiercely began to be bit, my hands trembled. My feet paced across the small quadrilateral each time becoming more similar to  a ring with no hands to punch back, nor mind to evaluate how far the damage had spreaded: it was blasted across the universe.

Thoughts stumbled upon each other, blood hid itself beneath my pores.

The insignificant, yet with most significance, yellowish worn square was dropped and like an automatic reaction: laughter consumed my lips like fire on an empty field.

Laughter drowned out my stifled tears, soothing my anger that was mistaken for pain, and easing my fears.

Silence soon became my answer.

The laughter erupted again, seemingly mocking the confusion. It mixed with lip-biting, which I interpreted as a defense mechanism. I had wrongly believed he was the one ruining our relationship, but his words, clearly written, showed otherwise. The blurred lines of confusion had made me mistrustful, thinking he was tearing things apart when, in reality, our relationship was still being created.

 I tried to bury his image when his reflection remained in my eyes.

I tried to bury the pouncing of my heart when he jumped.

I tried to bury the aching of a helpless mind hoping he and I....would be one.

His eyes never left mine.

His lips did not dare part mine.

The caprice that consumed his heart, also appeared, to be mine...

"..for me to suppose that you were the one I was meant to find"

My mind echoed the words again.....

Indecision.

His sense of humor always seems to interrupt our conversation. When he says, "don't fall," is he making fun of my accidental clumsiness? 

Is he criticising my unintentional clumsiness?

Or is he commenting on a behavior he's afraid of or strangely wants to have?

The thing both of us had feared would happen: we chained our souls with weights.

The thing that causes conflict, madness, bravery yet cowardly, fear and hope.

The thing that cannot be classified as an emotion as not even words, actions, emojis could describe it....

The thing Shakespeare delighted it's verses across the centuries, the thing that can cause one poor sonnet to kill it stone dead.

The thing marriage and families is supposed to mean.

The thing is so abstract no words can describe it... It is the most crazy thing anyone or anything can possibly be encountered with.

Some dramaturges catalogue it as magic....

No one stated there could be magic within this world...

But there is love, and it is so easy to be spotted. 

As if love were a flare, red as blood, shining in blind darkness waiting for someone to answer its call. 

Maybe this was him showing me the light. Guiding me back home. Back to his arms, his hugs, his touches and his looks. 

Maybe, this note was the beacon I needed to finally reach him. 

No matter how long I walk, my feet don't know how to get to another place . 

They always go back. Search back. 

No matter how much I deviate I know the end of my journey,

because my path never reaches land, it reaches him and his arms.