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I was soaring above the clouds. When I met you, I fell and plunged into the deep sea. Why is it so? Isn’t it supposed to be the complete opposite feeling when you…
Never mind that. Something within me shifted that day. A gear clicked into place; the tint of my world was slightly altered. All I know is that I will never be the person I once was. Your eyes pulled me just a bit more into the reality we share.
You know, I can barely recall my childhood. All that is left is fuzzed out by floating dust glimmering in a dim light. The type that makes you sneeze, behind those old shelves of junk in antique stores. I…
I hear a voice sometimes. When I dream. It’s just there, echoing into the nothingness of my mind. It terrifies me to the bone marrow, haunting me. I lie awake for entire nights when it decides to reveal its presence. At the same time, the voice is my reason for existence. Without it, I am certain to lose all sanity. Isn’t it funny, how life works sometimes?
No? I suppose it must be different for you. You’re lucky in that way. You don’t need a voice to help you fly.
How does it feel, to be drowning? You’re not guilty of what you have done to me at all, are you? Well… it’s dark. And cold, sometimes. No, always. I feel like I am suffocating in your embrace. Your warmth burns me and leaves behind invisible scars. It’s such a peculiar feeling. I’ve never felt anything like it.
Hey now, don’t back off. Please. It’s not your fault.
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I feel more alive when it snows. The air pierces everything with a frosty breath. I’m not talking about the white, fluffy snow, mind you. It’s the city snow that will never be pristine or pure, that turns into sludge the moment it touches the ground. The kind that piles up in the back alleys. When everything is gray and wet, I feel…satisfied in a way. That my reason for suffering for the day can be those delicate flakes.
It’s inevitable, isn’t it? That we are meant to part. I just know that fate will not be on our side.
What? You will fight for me? You’re admirable in that way. Then I will give my all to fight for you too. I suppose speculating about the future is never the best use of time. Let’s go down now, they are waiting for us.
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The cabin lights dim, seatbelt signs lighting up with a chime. The sun is setting, dying the sky a myriad of deep red and blazing orange. Outside my window, the lights of the runway blink on. Off. On. Off. It runs parallel to Manhattan. I look away from the city to the wharfs near the river. Where I can’t see, warehouses of brickstone have painted on them graffiti messages of lost youth. Stifled by circumstance, their silent screams reflect themselves in the brightly colored patterns. They will be tearing down those warehouses in a couple years. To build eco-friendly high-rise apartments, I’ve heard. Those artists will never have existed.
The plane has stopped taxiing. All is silent. Then, the powerful engines start. I desperately take in the view I see, imprinting it in my mind. But everything is getting blurry rather quickly, and I have to blink. Someone squeezes my hand, and I hate them. I detest them. I need to get off the plane. I need to stay. I can’t go. Not yet. Never. I can’t leave.
It’s too late. I can’t hear the pounding of my heart over the engines anymore. The plane speeds up, and the buildings become a blur. The automobiles become ants, the highways their trails. The plane tilts, and I am met with New York, my foreign, familiar city. I break down, sobbing.
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I have not gone back to America since the 80s. You have never called or written. I can never go back. At least I can pretend, as long as I don’t see for myself, that you are well and happy. I…
I miss you, Ash.