The Aspect Of Oblivion

A Conversation In The AMs

"What made you love him? Why the regret?"

I lose sight of his eyes as I melodramatically look down at my coffee, while the dead of night speaks a forbidden language of silence. In a matter of mere seconds, I find myself dauntingly cursing all vowels of silence as the following words slide off the tips of my tongue.

"I don't think there was anything that I did not love about him. And yes, I know. It might seem overly extravagant to express it this way because even I, myself, had never envisioned the possibility of loving someone with every nuance that defines them. I never knew that love had the power to blind the heart. I did not know that it can turn each and every flaw a person carries into the most beautiful things grounding the earth. In him, I saw someone who spoke. Someone who spoke and immediately broke the silence. And sometimes, he did that without even saying a word. He saw the world in different colors, situations as multiple cards, and people as various chess pieces. He was eccentric, completely out of his mind. And though he rarely displayed it, when he did, it was like art gave itself a whole new definition. It flattered me. It really did because I was just as crazy as he was. If not, even more. He had this sense of—everything. And I loved to listen to him talk because his voice made me feel safe. Just his presence made me feel safe. Like a moth dispatched towards the opposites of light, of which it shall carry on freely, without the feeling of being ever so captivated in a bottle calling out for death. For that very precise moth's death. He was a soul of which I have loved dearly, and to be loved in return, and to experience a feeling never experienced before, was just surreal. I don't regret him or anything really. I'm just disappointed in both myself and him. For he had only turned into everything he said he'd never be. And I, for loving just a little more than love allowed."

May 2016