Saturday, September 29, 2012


What are we heading towards? You, me, spinning in separate worlds, designing our own universes, stopped by the limits of ourselves. Stopped by the limits of each other. What would you say if I told you I wanted you at the centre of mine?

You're still a blurry image to me, slowly coming into focus, bit by tiny bit. Every small discovery is a fountain of delight, every encounter as terrifying as the one before, but more enlightening. If I was a photographer, that's how I would take photos of you: focusing on the details of your body, so close it would be impossible to distinguish the rest of you; so close that every body who saw them would think themselves your lover and ache for you, though they know not who you are. I'll make them see you the way I see you. I'll make them want you the way I want you.

And you, oh, it's a struggle with you. How do I quell the addiction that I've formed with you? How does someone break a habit? For now I'm content with this slow gravitational pull towards one another; the problem is that I'm counting on a collision. What if we're two ships who just pass each other in the night, completely unaware of the other? I might not be able to put myself back together after I've crunched against the shore. What am I supposed to do if there's no more you in sight?

You're still standing behind a veil, you're still impossible to see. I have an outline, a general notion, but little else. What's going on behind those beautiful eyes? What thoughts do your neurons relay? What sparks desire, what stokes lust? Better yet, what entices love? Is there an edge that you're standing on, looking over the precipice down below? Do you feel the urge to step over it, into the empty space? And is it me you're hoping to see at the bottom? Are you, too, hoping that gravity will cause us to collide?

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