wish I were here

New Idea

he’s blonde or as you affectionately and more specifically call him “a complete and utter mess” blonde in reference to how he constantly looks as though he’s just rolled out of either a satisfying sleep or the most restless night of his life. but somehow he pulls it off but you can’t let him know that, oh no, beyond juvenile teasing he towers over you by four inches and maybe “towers” is an exaggeration, but the fact of being taller than you itself is enough to make him grin. even if it just exasperates you. it’s just height, you say. it’s not significant. but it makes him grin. pulls the closest thing you see to a smile from the corners of his lips and makes the toothpick wedged between them hang on the verge of falling. and there’s a tugging within your gut that pulls the closest thing you feel to a genuine sincere feeling from the depths and makes you feel like you’re on the verge of falling for about four seconds. but it passes. it’s just a grin. it’s not significant he doesn’t like to talk that much. he listens, mainly, which is more than fine with you. somewhat. you like the sound of his voice. hearing it whenever possible is nice. you don’t tell him that. why would you? how would you? he’s known you for centuries. it feels like that, at least. maybe it has been centuries. you don’t know. you lost count. you secretly believe it has been. believe you two have something that time cannot get its hands on and the both of you will remain young forever and completely messing with everything together as two people with the capacity to rule cities together should he’s loyal. he’ll follow you anywhere. he’d follow you anywhere. he follows you everywhere. you get mildly offended when people imply you have some unsavory part in that. a magic spell. blackmail. empty promises. there’s none of that. he’s simply loyal. and there’s nothing simple about it. and you’re grateful for it he says your name often. whether you’re around or not. no matter who he’s speaking to. you don’t say his name enough he believes in you without question without hesitation when no one else does he believes he does believe in you, he does, he does, he’d give you his heart directly from his chest to prove it and maybe one day you’ll ask for that but for now you’ll admire the boy whose hair is in tangles and whose gaze is steel blue and voice is a low calculated drawl from his lips and you’ll keep how much he trusts you and the way he says your name stored deep within you with that admiration and you’ll keep him by your side as if you could get him to leave if you ever wanted him to and you would never want him to and you’ll get irritated and you’ll sigh, purposefully loud, purposefully looking at him longer than you should, purposefully letting a grin tug at your own lips because he’s four inches taller and you’re holding onto that and other details that mean both absolutely nothing in the grand scheme of things and absolutely everything to you

the first time we meet, you save my life time passes we grow closer i believe in you you trust me more than anyone you trust me no one else we both see the end coming because, of course, there’s always an end you don’t get a get out of death free card you don’t get centuries of existing and playing around and laughing and enjoying yourself it’s not how it works i’m more optimistic than you are and i believe in you in you succeeding in us succeeding you’re “realistic” but press on nonetheless you’ve got a plan, as always, and, as always, i go along because you saved my life because your life is important to me because our lives are together and you run out of options we’re backed into a corner you take my life, and i protest, but it’s weak because, realistically, honestly, completely you had my life from the beginning and you soon follow but i don’t know that because i’m already gone and i’m usually the one who follows, without hesitation, without protest, without question but this time, you follow but i’m already gone the second time we meet, i don’t like you i don’t remember you and you apparently remember me years are gone time has passed this is a completely different life something about you rubs me the wrong way the way you smile bothers me because it feels familiar how quiet i am bothers you because you say the silence is boring (and it’s familiar to you, but i don’t know that) the way you roll your eyes bothers me because it feels like something i should know you, like i knew you it feels like hours spent together nights spent together years spent together but you don’t remember me and i don’t remember you and we’ve never met before now, of course, how could we this is the first (second) time and you just laugh when we make eye contact, and the sound is unkind (familiar) and i clench my teeth and turn my back because i don’t like you (because i died, i did, because of you, but you don’t remember, you died, but i didn’t know, and don’t remember) you don’t like me (because we were all we had, and that’s all gone now, and maybe we’re meant to go on without each other now, maybe death pushed the restart button and we’re meant to move on with a clean slate and no memory of holding hands and having each other’s backs) and i don’t remember you why would i (why can’t i) the third time we meet, it’s by chance it’s fleeting your gaze briefly meets mine as we pass by each other because, of course, that happens in crowds at stores or on the sidewalk we make eye contact and look at a lot of people that’s normal it happens daily it doesn’t mean anything they’re strangers but we make eye contact, and i stop, and i remember not everything but enough to know that i know you and you know me and i don’t know how but there’s an ache that settles in my chest and i’m standing there, stunned, looking wide-eyed and ridiculous (but i remember) and you’ve stopped in your tracks, and you look like you have all these years, and you look pained and, for some reason, that hurts me too (and you remember) “i know that look,” i say you used to say that to me all the time, i think (i remember) even though this is the first (third) time we’ve met and you laugh, weakly, but still, it’s a laugh nonetheless it’s something and maybe death didn’t mean a clean slate, maybe we were stuck together no matter what life it was, no matter how much time passed, and our hands were meant to stay intertwined, and our backs would always be pressed together until the end or maybe we broke the rules because i think (i remember) we had a habit of doing that together, wonderfully, much to everyone else’s irritation but, whatever the case, i remember you and you remember me and we’re standing together (like we always did, for years, but we don’t remember that even though the feeling is there, the faintest outlines and traces of memories are blurred but they’re still there) and it means something, it has to, and the end wasn’t the end, apparently we have each other, again and even though we don’t remember everything, it’s not much, but it’s something and you look happy in the way that you always do, with the vaguest hint of mischief in your eyes and the curl of your lips that makes it more of a grin than a smile and i know that look i remember

We are like a religion. We, the tired ones. We, the middle of the night ones. We, the howl at the moon ones. We, the aching. Our bodies are like prayers, like a pair of hands held out, waiting for the rain to come and fill them. We, these burned bridges. We, these altars. If God is gone, then we are our own churches. We, the abandoned. We, the holy, arching like the gates of heaven, finding forgiveness where we used to find nothing. If God is gone, then maybe he has hidden the light inside of us. We, the hallelujahs. We, the amens and the amends. We, the dirges. We, the absolutions.

“In Blackwater Woods”, by Mary Oliver