The Mile High Club

Prelude

prelude

I shut my eyes and let the world drop dead.

It doesn't matter what is there when I open them but what matters is the galaxy of encompassing darkness and the shimmering haze of rust and stardust that lies behind my lids. I see stars, our stars, aligned in the structure of our destined fate.

But what if we're all lost stars? What if our destiny is to be lost? After all, sometimes it's best not to know where you're going. 

Truth be told, life is a crazy unorganized journey- and it's not supposed to be structured or predicted and plan out like some fantastical prophecy, made up by some wizard of a ridiculously long name and in some shabby Lord Of The Rings copy-cat novel.

You see: I am not the type of person who didn't leave it up to faith or the majority's influence to contrive my set of beliefs. Which is why ideologies like fate or stars could seem silly and overhyped and something people believe in because they are narcissistic creatures desperate in the palpable notion of thinking that they are needed for some mission that could determine the existence of mankind. But in actuality, without any fate or stars, there will be no incentives to venture on these big and crazy adventures. There will be no encouragement for journeys and discoveries. Life will not be exciting. Instead, it will become bleak and boring and nothing will ever be achieved and we would have never had come so far in human history today if we were all cynics. 

I can think of my totally unprecedented fate in terms of two categories: Then and Now.

Sometimes I mix up them up, the then with the now, or the now with the then, but I take my memories and group them together as best as I can because two groups are better than a thousand and it gives my messy life at least some form of order.

Then. 

It used to be something I can paint in vivid sketches of my future. I live and breathe, inhale and exhale a life in a domino effect of plans, predictions and preparations. I can connect the dots from college to career, from places to people, from birth to death. Until he comes along, piercing through my walls like a cannonball, and changes everything. The then is harder to remember than the now, further away and unreachable. It's filled with my father expelling smoke rings from his cigars, ruffling my hair whenever I crack a joke, blonde hair blowing in the wind, my best friends laughing at something that wasn't even that funny when you look at it now. The then is disjointed, cracks of Flynn, his stormy grey eyes that should've been mysterious, dark and dangerous but instead they resemble remnants of liquid mercury, tripping and falling to the gray-stoned streets due to the intoxication spiralling in my veins, red white blue fireworks exploding overhead as we sit on the hilltop of itchy grass with his stupid guitar cradled on his lap and the feeling of Flynn's hand in my own, holding me close but never kissing me until I ache with uneasy and foreign sensations in my chest. The he'll pull me in for the surprise and obliterate me with a single kiss. A kiss, deep with no holding back, like every kiss in my entire life has been wrong but the one he gives is it.

The then is consistent with shards of our adventures, hot days and cold nights, sandy grounds and blue skies, full of booze and misdemeanour, and love, God, what a love. The then is intangible dust of another era settling on the streets of my mind, rising like the undisturbed sediment of a muddy lake when you touch its bottom. The then is bright, murky, like a faded polaroid taken years and years ago with unsteady hands. 

On the other hand, the now is something I very clearly remember, something I'm still travelling through and forever adding to. It's filled with hospital beds and disinfectant riddled sheets, funerals and the back of Flynn's head getting smaller and smaller as he walks away in my memory and never comes back. The now is the heart-wrenching pang of a familial loss and the curbing grief, with loneliness and isolation and nobody to dig me out of the hole. The now is painful and a sorrow of what feels like forever, which will be broken into relief when I see his face again, bumping into him at all places, and there is confusion because you can't separate the feelings of betrayal or love. The now is magnified to the point of distortion and sprinkled with bits and pieces of agony, heartbreak and pain.

Without any destiny, my life will become chaos- and if there is no form of order, I will just be lost without the thought of getting found by him. Without any destiny, I wouldn't have met him not once, not twice, not three times but in many coincidences too strange to dismiss.

He is an enigma that earns no place in my little array of thens and now. He's not playing his role right, not looking at me as a one-night stand, a casualty, something easy to forget. He's an enigma that's walking all over the rules and I could hope all the best for him to fade into a then, for my memories of him to dull him into a then but no destiny will not allow such things. The stars have drawn their lines.

It's so fucking frustrating- fate is refusing over and over again for him become a part of the past. Refusing over and over again for him to leave me alone. Refusing over and over again to let him sink back into the shadows where he belongs. His smiles are far too bright and his presence is far too heavy. He's an event all in himself; an overbearing, inundating event, and I don't even know where to begin categorising him, or myself for that matter. 

I lift my lids and all is born again.

-

if you know who inspired the first + last line, i will dedicate the next chapter will you. i promise.

hint: it's my favourite poet. 

trailer is posteddd up there yoo.

ANYWAY, PLEASE VOTE, COMMENT, ADD THIS TO YOUR LIBRARY AND CHERISH THE NEXT GOOD YEAR TO COME I'LL SPEND WRITING THIS.