In Terms of Omens.

We are lying on the grass in a still, icy, December morning. We do not talk but just lay there, synchronicity binding our hearts. We take the time to feel our eyes watching the crimson clouds turn more vibrant with every bit the sun takes towards our horizon, and my hands are cold, and I cannot feel my face. Yet, I’ve never felt so warm in your loving, all-encompassing arms.

I don’t know why I chose you, dearest. I don’t know why I chose to love you and open my heart to you— tell you about my deepest flaws and insecurities, those weird anxieties and incomprehensible fears. I don’t know why I chose to hold your hand and bury my smiling face into your chest. All I can say is that you allowed me to love you despite everything else, which means the world. You told me to love you despite the distance, time and obstacles that might face us, and that was like giving me the sun in my hands, and I don’t know what to do with this ever-illuminating glow.

I have always wanted this. I used to see the world rejecting love just as soon as the black clouds would come caving in and I remember just looking at that darkness and wondering how it’s possible to convince our hearts to rekindle the lost flames of passion and alignment. I used to be so afraid to love— why love if it never lasts?

And I’d conjure up fantasies of ethereal, unearthly love. I’d convince myself that it was real. I’d write stories and poetry chanting anthems of surreal moments laced by unconditional, pure love.

But then you came around and showed me that if two hearts believe in the same vision, then perhaps that augmented faith could blossom into a beautiful, real dream. There was no reason to push you away, with that possibility, with that unfathomable intention to manifest love into our world.

I’ve always wanted to love in spite of everything.

And now, we are so far away, so consumed by worldly matters that mean so much to us. You are fascinated by the coordinates on the map of your purpose, and I’m rapturous to be watching you navigating it with ease and determination. Sometimes I don’t get the chance to talk to you, to hear your voice and see your face, but I don’t mind.

I really don’t. Because the essence we have captured surpasses all bounds. I’m sure of it, and I’ll keep believing in it, and I won’t let anything change it.

No, we are not lying next to each other on the dewy grass. The sun is not rising before our very own eyes. Yet, it is the possibility that it might happen, in the right time, in the right place, that keeps me so patiently faithful.

And I’ll always keep my eyes open for the omens— and those omens always lead me back to you, dearest.

— pushing you away is like pushing love away—