'I’m not saying'
By Astrid Beauvois
Behind me, through a crack in the door, a guitar ballad cries out to me. I see golden-viridian orbs of mischief twinkling up at me, inquisitive.
I’m listening to music from my childhood, where life was hard and I shut myself up inside. I’m connected to a deeper part of my psyche in this moment, drowning in a land of my creation.
I’m fantasizing about young heartbreaks, when I first learned that nothing is perfect. During the experiences I shared with long forgotten lovers, with family I’ve exiled, with my own lost innocence.
When I became cynical, became jaded and hard, I lost sight of the world around me. How amazing is this world we’ve been gifted, these emotions we damn, these scents and tastes?
I first lost hope when I learned that those assumed protectors we’re forced upon didn’t really want to sacrifice. They weren’t willing to do anything for a solid life, for happiness and love.
But I am. I am different. I am a new breed of myself, a species diversifying, an atom splitting, a new day of promise.
When I learned that no one is perfect, I hadn’t yet learned of you. Your flaws, your traumas, your idiosyncrasies, your scars. Your fears. You are an awe-inspiring creation, the perfect culmination of complexities that make you absolute perfection.
You grow and thrive, becoming a garden for my soul to become lost in. The murmured lyrics on my television make my chest long for your breath.
They make my fingers ache for those velveteen, secret spots of skin. They make my tongue ignite, awakened by the pining I have for the taste of your whispered “I love yous”.
Before you, life was the slow road to my funeral. The trip spent modifying the guest list, crossing off names. Crossing off more names. Crossing off every single name and scribbling so hard that I tore through the page.
But now, life is ending all too quickly. How many sleeps do I have left before you’re grey? Before you’re ill, before we’re barely able to climb the stairs to our bedroom? How many sunrises in your arms remain before we lay down together for that last goodnight?
It’s inconceivable but all too possible. But it matters not, because I’ve smelled your skin after a hard day. I’ve run my nails across your scalp and I’ve seen tears well in your eyes for me.
I’ve never made love before you, because you make love to me with adoration, with your pupils dilating and your irises glowing. You make love to me with your mind, with your art, with deep breaths and fingertips, exploring.
Fairy tales were a fear of mine. Happily ever after wasn’t something I deserved, I was meant to suffer, this cross was mine to bear. I am a master saboteur, perfectly executing my own demise.
I believe. I’ve found faith in those saucers of cerulean and sky. My night contains stars now and the view is marvelous. I can’t wait to hold your hand against a backdrop of atramentous silk, with clinquant diamonds strewn upon it, haphazardly.
I see light within you, feel whole just knowing you exist. I believe in hopeless romance, now. I’m no longer afraid to love, to be a gift instead of a curse, to be the cure as opposed to the poison.
My head was meant for that spot on your chest, my stomach formed to press against the small of your back as I lazily trail my fingers across your chest and inhale sensation I can’t believe I’m able to feel.
I’m awake. I’m wide awake and I can view everything anew. I will create art. I will create beauty. I will change. I will make the world better. I will. I have to, because the girl you love is strong. She is a mountain, sharp and immortal. She will leave a mark upon this life that no one can ignore. She will shift oceans.
She will become oceans, even. Flooding the skulls of those alive to witness this grand transformation. I’m going to be your equal. Because you deserve that. You deserve so much, entire galaxies razed in your name, monuments in every space in time, your name shouted from rooftops, in moments of flourishing passion.
We have both lived lives as a phoenix. It’s time to wash away the ashes I carry. I’m tired of coughing from the soot. I’ve never filled my lungs with such a saccharine vapor as I do when in your company.
The future is bright with you.
Everything and Nothing
Everything and Nothing