Combustion

red giant: three

We saw each other more days than we didn't that summer. And while I can distinctly remember many incredible things you made me do, I will try my best to focus on the highlights- those moments that sent me tumbling head over heels. Those moments when the air was metallic and the whole universe was comprised solely of you and I. Still, there are so many of these instances. There were so many times you had made my blood feel hot in my veins and reminded me that we were the sculptors of forever.

You made me question everything I had been doing before, because that wasn't living or feeling, at least not to the degree that you took things. I had been doing everything blind before I met you, and any past satisfaction seemed to be an illusion at best. How could I be happy with half-heartedness and slow, lazy days where dreams were only figments of imagination? The instruments had all been laid in front of me, but I never learned to play until you taught me to. The music was so very nice.

The next day that comes to mind was unbearably muggy. I could feel the air choking my lungs, and the world seemed sluggish. It could have been a truly terribly day, but not even the sticky weather could affect you.

Your mom had dropped you off at my house before driving up to work. This time, I was prepared for your arrival, and you did not get the pleasure of seeing my whale pajamas.

You were holding a plastic container by the handles. "You won't believe what my mom tried to throw out." You tore off the lid and shoved the box closer to me even though I could see the contents perfectly fine.

"Sidewalk chalk." I was not wholly impressed at the time. The chalk looked as close as it could to brand new. I imagined you begging your parents to buy them so many years ago, and they had complied. But by the time you had returned home, your muse had been lost. Now, though, it seemed to have reemerged.

Still, I followed you outside, grimacing at the heavy air. At the time, there was hardly any breeze, and the world was frozen in a very tired way. I did not much feel like doodling with the awkward sticks of chalk in this terrible weather, but you did. I could feel electricity rolling off you in waves, and I was sadly affected by your static pull. We were opposite charges, and it worked.

You sat down on the driveway, and I took a seat next to you. Your attention was solely on the undented chalk, and I was trying to make it seem like I wasn't staring at you. The humidity was doing strange things to your hair, but it was unruly in the most interesting of ways. It was hair fit for the freest of spirits.

You pulled out a green. "The great thing about chalk is the canvas. All you need is a driveway, a sidewalk, a road. And think about how many of those there are. Even if it never rained again, we would never run out of canvas."

"I can't imagine that there's enough chalk in the world for that." I hoped that there wasn't enough chalk in the world, because who knew how long this chalk phase would last. Painting had lasted surprisingly long, apparently, but even then it was only a couple of months, and then the odd day when the moment felt unbearably right. In your current mindset, though, I was sure your creations would spill out of the driveway and well into the road.

"That's too bad." There was a shock of green on the grey pavement. You halted your coloring and looked up at me. "What are you waiting for?"

I felt obligated to grab a chalk and draw something beside you. I am not an artist. I had no idea what to draw. There was a deep blue chalk in my hand. My fingers were already beginning to feel powdery, and it was hot in the worst way possible. I wanted it to be another water balloon day.

I drew a whale.

"Nice... slug?" you questioned. You were holding a pink, and clearly you were going for more abstract art, because you had moved on to doodling patterns and swirls. There was a growing mishmash of curves and sharp edges that melted into each other. Each color kissed the next perfectly.