“When soul meets soul on lovers’ lips.”
•°•°•°•°•
To the one from the star,
It's new year's eve tonight.
Tomorrow will be the first blank sheet of my 365-page book.
I want to plan things -- make resolutions; write well on that first page.
But I've given up on such things now. Not because I'm hopeless, but because planning gets me nowhere. I'd rather just go with the flow and be happy with the letters I write to you once in a while.
All those years ago, on this same day, I'd made a resolution and written it down on my journal, with you seated beside me on our rooftop - legs folded, hands within your pockets, and your breath puffing out as smoke into the wintry air.
I'd made a resolution that I would learn to overcome my fears. I'd made the resolution to never demean myself.
I'd made the resolution to hope. Always.
“What are we doing here on the roof when it's freezing outside? Do you want to kill me?”
“Stop being so dramatic,” I'd answered without sparing a glance at you. The sight of you cuddled within a blanket, covered from head to toe despite wearing two thick woollens inside was hilarious. I knew I'd start laughing and fall off my roof again.
I'd decided to save myself a broken bone.
“You call this dramatic? It's so cold outside, my heart could freeze!”
“I thought you were just gas and rocks? You have organs too?” I'd offered the best smirk I could conjure on my otherwise forced-expressionless face.
“Well, the cold air could condense all my gases. And then I'd disappear.”
“Condense your gases?” I'd laughed. “That would be so embarrassing!”
“I didn't mean that gas!”
“Considering you'd literally threatened me to blow up my house with your gas, I'd say it's exactly what you meant!”
Your face showed well how annoyed and….cold you were, and I loved it. “Wait here, I'll get us some hot chocolate.”
“You're abandoning me to die here alone?”
“Yeah, so I don't have to witness the gasocalypse later.”
“Gasocalypse, what?”
“Gas plus apocalypse. Ah nevermind, you're impossible.”
“Sure.”
After five minutes, I'd brewed up two cups of hot chocolate and carried it to our roof. You were still holding onto the blankets and pulling it tighter around you for dear life. I almost felt bad and refereed to move inside. But I knew the 12:00 a.m. sky lights would be worth it! I wanted to share that one moment with you.
YOU ARE READING
My Name Is Memory
Teen Fiction"When the lamp is shattered The light in the dust lies dead When the cloud is scattered The rainbow's glory is shed. When the lute is broken, Sweet tones are remembered not. When the lips have spoken, Loved accents are soon forgot." ~Percy Bysshe S...
