The sky is an impressionistic painting.
Heart beating to the rythm of my walking, heart beating to the music. Heart beating to your blinking. I want to dance, I want to cry, I want to puke, to sing, to run, to stay. I love the feeling of love, of nostalgia, the great mix between imploding happiness and cold indifference. I’m drunk on the cool air and high on new beginnings. New beginnings always smell strongly of the past, of childhood, of tragedy. Adrenaline, the glistening eyes I imagine having, words flowing in from my soul to my brain. Hastening the pace, quick, looking at my feet for a second, the muscles in my cheeks tense, seeing you walking by. Time doesn’t mean a thing anymore, as long as this feeling’s here. You look me in the eyes, then you’re gone. You’re gone, but the smile lingers on. Memories, the present, expectations, everything blends together when I feel it rush through my veins, this undefinable thing, this perfect concoction. Put together from things that shouldn’t belong in it, made from the tension between its elements, from the fast pounding in my chest and from the path my spirit follows too quickly to remember everything clearly. I hate it and crave it at the same time. It doesn’t have a name, none I found has yet done it justice. A concentrate of every strong emotion, put together in one. It smells of October and January, it looks a bit like this one May and everything after. Disappointment and high hopes, tears and laughter, and the wish to just keep walking for the rest of my life. The need to pump up the volume so the music booms in my earphones just enough, too. It’s not love, but love’s somewhere in it too: the tingling going on in my whole body, the enjoyable uneasiness I feel in my stomach. Loud guitars seem like the best thing ever invented in those moments, but sweet, sad voices and minor chords do too. It’s not about you, but you’re part of it, because I think of you occasionally, and in these moments, every occasional thought, every little preoccupation or hypothesis is considered again for a fraction of a second.
I think the best part about it is still the fact I know, I’m certain, I’m one hundred percent positive that everything is going to be just fine. Even though you’re gone forever, even though you’ll be too, soon, even though you haven’t come back yet. Even though they don’t understand.
We’ll be fine. Me, you, and them.