This Is How

by HelluvaGirl

Your words. The ones I wanted to hear. The ones I was meaning to say to you. Not to write - I thought some of them ought to be said looking into the eyes before they were written in letters. I thought if this superstition was disregarded, the higher powers would close the roads that lead us to each other, sink the ships we sail in the high seas, and the tiniest chance of our crossing paths again would be gone forever. And then I lost hope. I lost the faith odds were ever in our favour, so I put it out. I wrote these words as one submits a letter of resignation. I quit, I said. I quit the hope. I don't care about spells any more. Will we see each other again, now that the words are out? The ones which served as guiding stars in each of our universes and drew us towards each other to an unfamiliar point in space and time, purely for the reason of being said, coming to life, becoming flesh. Is it all lost now? Are we bound for even longer journey? It keeps ringing in my head:
One day, whether you are 14, 28 or 65, you will stumble upon someone who will start a fire in you that cannot die. However, the saddest, most awful truth you will ever come to find - is they are not always with whom we spend our lives. (Beau Taplin)
Sometimes, there are these short moments of clarity. When the suffocating yearning eases, when the denial looses in its unequal struggle with the reality, when I bridle my desire and see everything in relation - and throw out my fire extinguisher - I tell myself
This is how I live. This is how I love. This is mine.
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