The Heart Of Me: Part One
We are an abyss, me and you, a great chasm filled with darkness, a gargantuan sphere scattered with diamonds. I like to stand at the top and look down into this prodigious pit, but sometimes I find myself right at the bottom, scrabbling to escape. It is then that the darkness seems terrifying, and there seems to be no end to the abyss, to me and you, to this great chasm inside of me that holds you within. It always seems infinite, and though it pierces right to the centre of me, it is often beautiful. Our history is interspersed with diamonds, which hold within them the intricate secrets of happier days, and when you are standing with me right at the top, the world seems to exist simply to hold us together in this crevasse. I am sixteen years old when your eyes first meet mine, and though I do not realise it then, you will hold my gaze until my dying day.
It is dark outside, and cold, the summer's day far behind us now. Our youthful, sun-kissed skin tingles as we drink, and while away the hours of our teenage lives, until nobody knows what time it is, and nobody cares. It's hard to remember what we speak of back then, as the night draws in, and things become blurry; hazy with the happy chatter that fills the room. It's hard to say whether I notice you as you enter the room, or why I am sitting alone, my almost-empty beer can cradled, for comfort maybe. You sit in front of me, turn back and wink, knowingly, as if even back then you see what is in store. I am an observer, and I like that, watching everybody weaving themselves through conversation and time; it could all seem so pointless and naive, but I think I like that too.
I don't know how I find myself sitting next to you. Maybe it's the alcohol that is warming my body, but I am warming to you; your torn jeans, your fervid smile, your loud laugh that somehow carries me along upon its bubbling current. It's late now, and youth obscures our shyness, so that we laugh at the awkwardness, and make it part of us. I have never loved before, not deeply, not uncontrollably, but I feel, even then, that this is the start of everything.
The next time I see you, the carnival is in town, and I see your face again through a cloud of bubbles and smiles. Somehow our inhibitions have disintegrated, and a cup of tea later I am talking to you about nothing, about everything. Everything is exciting, you are exciting, and for the first time in my life I feel like somebody understands the heart of me. More caffeine fuelled days talking about our lives, as if for the first time they are important. More hazy nights, where grins grow from nowhere, like pretty weeds. Under the stars, whisky scented kisses steal my breath away, and when I am there with you then, it is unexpected, close, and I wonder how we will ever let each other go. It all seems so idealistic, but that is the beauty of it. It truly is idealistic, and beautiful, and this time sparkles within me, the happy memories to hold on to in harder times.
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