on a whim, on pure sudden enthusiasm stirred by the fresh spring air. After hours on my bed, I told you I might re-read Catcher In The Rye. My hate for the book when I was fresh-faced and sixteen came from the lack of plot in it. A lack of structure. A lack of sense.
But with blankets tangled at my feet, and braids tangled in my hair, I told you I believe I understand that now.
When you first arrived, we were smiling so much that it became a mutual, beautiful, unexplained laughter. What I feel in your kiss, and in your laugh, is nothing short of euphoric. I think this is bliss.
It is existentialism, I tell you. That is why there is no plot.
After you fell asleep next to me in the warm evening sun, I thought about how in a matter of months we will never see this room again. This will become someone else’s room, contain the ups and downs of someone else’s life. It is how all things are in this strange stage of life. After last year, I knew we would never again sit in the room where I love you was exchanged. And the year before that, I would never climb the tower so that we could find each other in the dark again. These are not sad things. These are just places with one meaning to me, and perhaps a different significance to someone else.
There is no meaning because there does not have to be. Holden isn’t hopeless, he’s nihilistic.
We ate french fries in a parked car and talked about the arsonist on the loose. You went home, and found an official letter of rejection from a place you’ve never been, from people you do not know.
There isn’t any purpose to this, to any of this. Existence is whatever we make of it. But, somehow we were together today, on this day that defined some sort of direction (or lack thereof) for you. We don’t have structure. We don’t have sense.
But we have the wordless bliss of laughter, the lingering of a feeling we gave meaning to.
It is the thought of your body,
so lovingly close to mine,
that gets me through.
I will always love the way you trace my pale imperfections,
and still somehow look at me in awe, as if this makes me a perfect being.
I will awake tomorrow, and I will love you. I feel that no matter what,
I will love you for all of my days.
I’ve been trying to find the words to properly capture this image into language, but I don’t think there are any.
You’re unlike anything I’ve ever known.
“Wake up so I can say goodbye?”
My voice was softer than I’d hoped, meek almost. But he stirred.
He was pushing for some kind of alertness under those heavy eyelids, and reached out to touch me, almost blindly. I let his hands trace and grip into my sides; at last he looked at me.
There is a gaze that I learned exists this morning. It is the gaze shared between two people who’ve no idea when they’ll see each other again, two people who want to stay exactly in the moment they’re experiencing.
Two people that do not want to leave.
He cupped a warm hand to my face, “I’ll see you soon.”
“Soon,” I repeated, nodding, my voice even more frail.
Then he drew me closer; I swelled with the immense feeling of being wanted. Our lips met in a shaky, bruising kiss. My fingers in his tangled, long hair - his warm chest pressed tight to mine.
The motion to get up went against my tiredness, my desire to stay with him, but then I was standing - a hand on the doorknob. He smiled at me, this huge sleepy grin. Behind the tired eyes, though, the smile was bittersweet - if not a little sad. I beamed back at him, the same mix of emotions just behind my lips.
“Goodbye, Nikki.” A near whisper, a voice like a confession.
This time, we stood in an empty apartment. It was five rooms of nothing but walls and bare furniture. On this occasion, it was much later than before - I could see hints of evening in small slivers out the window blinds. I took in a breath, and exhaled with a shudder.
In that moment, I realized we were never going to be in this school, this town, this place together again. Things had changed, and were only going to continue to do so.
“It was really nice going to school with you,” I said lamely, voice breaking as my lip quivered.
His expression softened, and he opened his arms to me.
He pulled me into his arms, which were firmly around me as I molded against his chest.
For all of the times he had seen me cry - had seen me bawl my eyes out, makeup in streaks down my face - I tried my damnedest not to let this be one of those times. I wanted us to remember this as good, as worthwhile, and most importantly: as happy.
“Don’t cry…” he pleaded softly. The way his brow had knitted was an indication that he might swell up if I continued.
I gave a feeble laugh as I brushed at my eyes, “I won’t, I won’t.”
Our smiles were as bittersweet as they’d been before, but they were still smiles.
And just as it was a year previous, I moved to the door for the last time. I said something about how we’d better be seeing each other very soon, in the most light-hearted manner I could muster. And he eagerly agreed.
The difference, this year, was that before I could turn to walk out, I said the most simple, yet most important thing I have ever said to him:
“I love you.”
“And I love you.”
It’s all that matters.
I saw this picture on tumblr over a year ago, and loved it for many reasons. Seeing it today, I still definitely feel that way.