Perhaps used to express uncertainty or possibility.
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There used to be a time when all I'd think about was you.
I'd look out the window and see the grass - and I'd think about how green your eyes were. Then see the sky - and remember the tinge of blue within the emerald.
Everything reminded me of you, no matter how big or miniscule they were. I'd be cooking one moment and my memories would flash to the day your gaze lit up at the sight of the carnival treats - the day you'd won me that giant cotton candy pink teddy bear that felt soft on my skin and warm in my heart.
Everything led to the word: perhaps.
Perhaps if we had talked more, if I'd been braver, prettier, stronger - you'd have stayed or I would've. It wasn't the matter of who tried and who struggled.
It was the matter of fate. And I hated it.
Because I knew no matter how brave or pretty or strong I was, the forces that were keeping us apart stood relentless and the infinite timelines we belonged in were parallel, never to cross paths. Destiny is cruel and so were you and so was I. We were the lovers the audience applauded and mourned for. They would clap for our kisses and cry with our tears. Their tinsel-lit eyes would shine in the moonlight as we parted our ways, never to return to each other's arms. The crowd would yell in protest, ask for us to return again, desperate for the happy ending that would charm its way into a fairy tale.
It was cruel.
We met at the worst of times, then the best, then the worst again. You'd fall for me, then another, then me again. And I? I'd do the exact opposite.
So when we did cross paths - or so it seemed we did - our eyes would light with a contrasting warmth. Our feelings were polar opposites; magnetic in the sense of attraction, I suppose. Perhaps this was the wrong metaphor.
I used to wonder what life with you would be like.
We'd hold each other in our nests, emitting the warmth we brought to each other. We'd nestle into our heart's content and we'd love and love and love. I remember your smile. It was beautiful.
We both enjoyed simplicity. We yearned to live on meadows, enjoying the harvest of our own hard work and bathe in the morning's sunlight, rejoicing the glorious works of God. We'd pick dandelions and watch as sparrows flew in the wind, painting with the colours of the autumn leaves and dancing in puddles of after-rain.
Yet, why did I feel so different now? Because as I sit in the security of concrete walls, hidden by metal, entrapped by electricity. I still feel alive. I still feel connected. I enjoy walking out and getting cultural foods, exploring mounts and mounts of data. I enjoy the feeling of the cold steel on my skin and I embrace the lights of the tall giants that haunt over the break of dawn.
With you, I imagined it to be bliss.
Perhaps.
There used to be a time when I thought it was odd to love.
How could it be that I only saw one person and stuck with them forever? Would it even be possible be to hold onto the pounding of my heart for an eternity?
Perhaps. With you.
It sounds silly, really. When I first glimpsed into those eyes of wonder, irises coated with the shades of the glimmering seas, I thought it was possible to love. And as you stared back at my ebony ones, coal black which you described as a dark molten chocolate brownie overflowing with caramel and ribbon charcoal stripes, you thought the same too.
Light and dark. I believe the metaphor of polar opposites comes in better now.
When you left and you loved another - then I did, I thought it was betrayal. You felt the same too. The way you spoke to me after was different. You were trying and I was trying and we were both failing at the same time. It brings laughter now.
Perhaps I do still love you, just not in the way I did before. Or perhaps that love has transformed into remembrance. Perhaps the fast beating of my heart has slowed. But it's a good thing, is it not? I am comfortable.
I always remember you.
The memories are fragments now, holographic shards at the corner of my thoughts. Sometimes I romanticise our meetings because your face comes out in warped blobs of a thousand shades. I see your eyes and nothing else. But I feel you, and that is enough.
Remembrance is beautiful. As painful as memories are, some would give up a lifetime for them to return. The faster something vanishes, the more you value them. They are precious.
And one day, perhaps the idea of parallels might change. Or not. Perhaps.
