There are certain numbers I am drawn to and I have always been drawn to. Three is one of them.
Waltzes, trios, and chance.
Pyramids stand the strongest and we stood exalted. The third time we snuck back into the science hall, I had the keys swinging around my pinky. Four years ago, we were the ones with a streak—one that will remain unqualified. You partied on weekends when I didn't and I slept hangovers away on strangers' couches. Then again, we weren't unique.
Dedicated student as you were, you knew how the planetarium worked.
Though you took the course for credit and not for passion, you slowly developed an insatiable interest for space. In regards to that, we walked in divergent lanes. I peered down the other side of the telescope.
Seats for just two in the little globe was better than any opera or theater.
Lights bounced off your forehead and nestled into the fine lines of your lashes. You always had the prettiest profile, front and side. Two carved eyes warm and rich with a perfect frame. Straight nose, on the smaller side, and curving lips. Strong jaw but smooth enough to touch.
You caught me staring and leaned down for a kiss. I ended up on your lap, forgetful of what was above us, and kept you close.
"I miss you," I said.
"I'm right here." Your fingers hooked their way around my jeans.
I've missed you for a long time. In my sleep, between and out. There have always been imprints of your body to my left. Apart from you, the outline of others are sunken thirteen inches into my mattress. I've buried them in my nightmares but once and again, they like to roam the halls of my apartment.
"I miss you," I whispered again and brushed my hands through your hair.
Days like this you offer nothing more than yourself. I'd sit in your embrace and you'd dig indents onto my shoulder blades but never enough. I could never feel close enough to you.
You said I could give you everything you needed but how could I when you couldn't even? That as I sat there, it was still lacking? You touched me with your fingers and your nails and your words, tongue deep and velvet. That as we poured ourselves out into glasses, we emptied and then we doused but hot water made us shatter. We don't dance in storms to feel beauty we dance to feel rage. We burn and we fester, we deny our wrongdoings because it's romantic.
Above us, above us. A war raged on between two angels, maybe even three.
In distant galaxies, matter grows apart.
Blackholes sink but they sink forever. Nothing is together.
That crack? You felt it too, infinitesimally smaller and bigger than mine. A stray tear leaked, like the beginnings of a discovery of a paradise within. I coaxed it out of you, kissed it out of you.
Above us, above us. Forgotten but not unheard.
"Tell me," you said. "Tell me."
I did. Everything. Twice, you said. Three times I spilled. Catharsis was addictive.
We shared turns under nebulas and dying stars. I'd have you, again and again and again and again.
"I'm leaving," I finally said. "I'm going to travel."
Not to see the unearthly but to understand my—our—condition. Nothing was booked then but there was one last continent I thought I'd find my ruins in. Your eyes, they travelled my face far more than they did the map of the galaxy.
"When?" Your voice cracked.
"End of the year."
You came back harder than ever. I adored you. No questions, just understanding. I was so sick of this place, baby, I was so, so sick. There were weekly fevers, heart palpitations, and I was calcium-weak. Nights when you stayed over, you hovered and you worried. Were you scared for me or for loss's sake?
"Come back," I said. "I'll come back."
At that time, I didn't even know if I'd leave. You were a complication and I wanted you.
We left the campus and I watched your eyes stray across places—places that seemed arbitrary to me but to you, held past projections of who you were. Did she burn here and here?
If she did, I'm so sorry. If I did, I'm so, so sorry.
There it is again, guilt guilt guilt.
Everything that you were and still are, I'm accountable for in ways that I should not be.
So to yours. We went to yours because at night, it was beautiful at yours. Unceremoniously placed were candles we bought together one weekend. You were drawn to the sweet scents and I to the spices. We bought both—creamy white and heated maroon.
One by one, we set the wicks alight until we create an unwarranted universe within your living room. They're scattered about: the pattern is heartfelt.
We slow-danced.
Waltzed, even.
Eyes closed and weary, forehead pressed against your strong shoulder, I dug up another artifact.
Prom. It was an open venue in the way that there were just one, open room. I remember because it was hard to hide from the guy I rejected—there were only four corners.
"You look good in suits," I said.
Slow stirrings of a smile were present on your face.
"Where is this coming from?" you asked.
"I think I saw you prom. You were in the middle of the room, right when I came in. I came about an hour late because no one shows up on time but also because my friend was late curling her hair.
"Was it a blue suit? Deep blue? I remember because you weren't wearing a tie."
By then, you were chuckling, unravelling the tempo of our three-step dance.
"Probably me," you said. "I only own about one tie now and I still have to call my mom every time."
"I can teach you," I said.
"Right now?" you asked.
I knew how to tie ties because I helped out as costume crew one year and the amount of people that didn't know was staggering so I set out to learn it myself.
Your closet was well-organized and your two suits hung alone. We sat in front of your mirror until your fingers got the hang of it.
"Thanks," you murmured in my ear.
I stared at you by reflection, my back the drum to your racing heart. Leaning back, I kissed you on the jaw, the cheek, the lid, and the forehead. Then again and again until we were no longer facing the mirror.
