“I don’t know how to be silent when my heart is speaking.” I do not know how to speak when it is not my heart which is speaking. In this moment my head rushes painfully and my chest shrieks with panic. I am and always will be a dreamer. In wonder, can dreamers be loved?
There existed moments of luminous connection sitting face to face so close as we spoke of our dreary childhoods and hunger for otherworldly magic. This girl, I thought, can surely begin to taste the colors of my fervent soul. I wanted to escape with her, from the city trees so deadened and spiritless, from the hot concrete and the never ending crowds of people which mean nothing to me. Our invisible seams tightened, we were in a rapport of swimming light, of joy, mystery, possibility. Embers tingling in a chimerical forest in shadowy dusk as a gathering wind both embowers, raising heartstrings, and releasing all inhibitions.
Through times and winds will blow moments of such aching beauty between two human beings that you do not realize how extraordinary they are until they have descended. We quietly tipped our hearts out towards one another like gently steaming tea cups. I told her of how I once met a faerie and her lovely au courant hazel eyes sipped it in and made it real again to me. Where do these moments go? Maybe the magic of moments like these are enhanced by my overactive imagination. Yet I repeat; where do these moments go? People change their minds and leave you cold; I have surely turned to dust. I realize that all is temporal and the phoenix will again rise from the ash- yet I choke on my tears of despair, for I am barren inside to know passion and enchantment can be so fleeting. Oh, those rare moments of souls reaching out for each other! The dreamer can only pray to experience it again, and for one day, a person to stay.