as illumae

MONDAY today i woke up from a nightmare and looked for you instead of turning on the lights. it wasn't the first time. TUESDAY the room tilted when you walked in earlier, and i've been trying to come up with a logical explanation all night. 5 o'clock and i'm still trying. WEDNESDAY i'm getting used to wearing your words as a reminder that i am, that i can, that i will. THURSDAY the room tilted again, and somehow i keep sliding toward every space you fill. FRIDAYSATURDAY friday and saturday were a blur. the only thing i remember is that they both started and ended with you. SUNDAY sundays have always been for thinking about maybes, and these days all my maybes revolve around you.

I’ve always been a turn-up-the-volume kind of person, always been fluent in sound, the concept of silence too foreign to me. Can we talk about this? Did you hear that? I don’t really know what to say but my mind’s at war today and yes I do like noises but not the ones my thoughts make when they crash so here’s a story about how I came up with a story about— I’ve always been a turn-up-the-volume kind of person, the loudest boy in the room. And yet there’s something in your quiet smiles and the silences you hand me that keeps me coming back to you.

In another universe, Icarus never soared. Never crashed into a sea of nothingness. Instead, he spent his life crafting excuses. Letting the sun melt the wax on his back before he even flew so that he could say, 'Dad, wait. We need to build another pair of wings.' But here’s what this Icarus didn't know: you can drown in your own fears, too.

PROLOGUE Let me tell you a story of boy meets girl in a strange little town minus the wicked creatures, the ancient spirits, and the wounds. Just a boy, a girl, and a hundred what-if’s, should-not’s, and what-the-hell-does-this-mean’s.   THE BOY He is a walking exclamation point, and a witty question mark, and the kind of boy who would move heaven and earth to turn all the lights in town on at night if she ever told him she is afraid of the dark.   THE GIRL Picture red lips, fierce eyes, and a brilliant mind. She is all sharp edges and blunt words for most, a real study in survival and bravery for some, and secretly an equation of unspoken feelings she has yet to solve.   CHAPTER ONE The boy falls hard and fast, but the girl does not. Maybe, he thinks, they are not a good combination. Maybe they really are just like orange and blue after all.   CHAPTER TWO He puts his feelings on hold while she writes other stories of girl meets boy, then one day life happens, and he starts filling pages with moments lived with someone else, too. But she is okay with that. She is okay with that. She is—   CHAPTER THREE She is falling, falling, falling down into the unknown until suddenly she is not. Suddenly his hand is holding onto hers for dear life, and she has not felt this safe in years.   CHAPTER FOUR 'Remember I love you.'   CHAPTER FIVE 'I think I loved him.' (She still does.)

January 1 and I wish for a better year. A stronger me. A happier you. An easier us. July 31 and I start thinking that maybe I didn’t use the right words. Maybe I didn’t wish hard enough. Maybe I just need to wait a little bit longer. October 26 and I remember my last birthday, how I realized that making midnight wishes is silly and things won’t change unless you change them yourself. I still don’t know how to do that. December 31 and I realize the year is gone. January 1 and I wish for a better year. A stronger me. A happier you. An easier us.

You touch the candle flame. You will probably end up with blistered fingers and a couple of swearwords on your lips, but you touch the damn flame anyway. The fire licks at your skin, and it hurts. You flinch, then shrug. You knew it was going to hurt. Someone asks you why you would do that. “Do what?” you reply, seemingly oblivious. “Put your hand into the fire,” they answer. You flinch, then shrug. “Curiosity, I guess.” You cannot tell them that you wanted to see if you could hold the flame. You cannot even admit it to yourself. Not yet.

i. you are on your way to the sun when you find him, his wings nearly featherless, his movements certain and fearless in spite of it all. ii. he is chasing life and you are chasing light, but you are heading in the same direction, so you decide to fly side by side. iii. the story does not end with two boys losing their way, conquering the sun or crashing into the sea. it ends with his hand in yours and the promise of a future brighter than every dream you have ever dreamt. (and in that future, his wings heal.)

there's an 'almost' in between your lips, caught in the sighs he heaves and the breaths you take, and it tastes like a curse in itself.

sometimes it’s me: hi, i’m currently struggling a bit. please leave a message after the tone. (just know that i’m trying. i promise i am.) sometimes it’s some tired version of me: hello, she’s currently out with her thoughts. please leave a message after the tone. (be patient with her. please be patient with her.) sometimes, though, there’s no voicemail at all. sometimes i manage to feel confident enough to answer the phone. (i like those days.)

I crave for warmth.