Begin [bih-gin] verb – to proceed to perform the first or earliest part of some action.
Beginnings are the only things that ever make sense. It’s the middle that always complicates things, and endings always make you think back to where it all began just so you can try to make sense of it again.
I remember us, and how we began. I remember the words “Yes” and “Finally.” Those words are the ones that began us. I remember the words we shared together. The words that I let hit my eardrum and run through my veins. Words that pumped blood into my heart. Words that kept me warm at night before the lights turned out. Words that brought me back home.
Light [lahyt] noun – something that makes things visible or affords illumination.
She was light. She lit up the corners of a dark room that the sun missed. She enters my room at a time when it was at its darkest. She follows along the walls of picture frames that are shadowed. She brightens and shines on them to reveal the faces of unknown people that were photographed. She gives them purpose and identity. Distinction and recognition. She walks around my room, and reveals things I never noticed before she came. Like extra space that could be used for blanket forts, some more space where she can linger for a time, and the scent that follows you after you blow out a candle in the dead of night. She does this, before moving on and giving light somewhere else.
Us [uhs] pronoun – the objective case of we, used as a direct or indirect object.
See also Home.
Home [hohm] noun – the place in which one’s domestic affections are centered.
You said you never had a stable one. I said to you “I’ll be your home,” even when I was shifting sands. You brushed against my shoulder, like a wave crashing onto rocks, and you laid your head on me. The tips of your long hair met the front of my eyes, like a sunset over the horizon that never fell off the edge. In that moment, I realized that you were my shoreline. You were my promised sunset and collection of calm sands. You were my home too.
Smile [smahyl] verb – to assume a facial expression indicating pleasure, favor, or amusement.
You had a tooth you always hated. It was a slight displacement and sharpness of your right front tooth, the one that haunted you every time you looked in the mirror. It kept me in your orbit. All other smiles that were given to me were full of security and confidence, but never honesty. I see the way you present this imperfection to me, and I couldn’t feel more at peace.
I remember always saying to you how not even our Solar System was perfect. The planets are never aligned, comets and asteroids become lost, and stars fade once they’re dead. But we always find beauty in the things that are imperfect and don’t make sense.
Laugh [laf] verb – to express mirth, pleasure, derision, or nervousness with an audible, vocal expulsion of air from the lungs.
Her laugh was wildfire. She could fill an entire forest of green with her laughter. It was uncontrollable and beautiful. Destructive and intrusive. It would spread and recede. Grow and develop. Her laughter opened the doors to desire, and closed the windows to wisdom. Because after hearing it, you feel as if you could read the periodic table forwards and backwards by heart. You felt as if her laugh had its own place on the periodic table. After hearing it once, you feel as if you knew everything there is to know in one lifetime. I still hear her laugh through the wind that passes through trees, and I find calmness in it. Even though it burns me.
Kiss [kis] verb – to touch or press with the lips slightly pursed, and then often to part them and to emit a smacking sound, in an expression of affection, love, greeting, reverence.
You said you were having a bad day, and I wanted to make it better. We only just kissed each other’s cheeks for two weeks because we wanted to take it slow. You said “Bye” to me as you were leaving for your next class, and I pecked you on the lips unexpectedly. You were surprised.
It hit me like lightning. I felt my dead bones come to life. Veins I never knew that ran through my body filled with blood. I became conscious to the dew on the grass, and I found new colors in the spectrum. Your kiss contained oxygen, carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, calcium, and phosphorus: all the elements that make up the human body. It wasn’t until that day that I realized that I didn’t just need those six elements to live my life completely.
Forever [fawr-ev-er] adverb – without ever ending; eternal
We promised this to each other. It was the night after our second homecoming dance. I was driving you home. We were both just 16 and 17 years old. We thought forever existed outside of the Beach Boys song we sang to each other that night. We felt like forever was guaranteed through words that we said to each other every day, and the way we smiled at each other after we would take turns biting out of a Cuban sandwich we were eating and some of the toppings would leave residue on the side of our mouths. We found it in each other.
Trust [truhst] noun – reliance on the integrity, strength, ability, surety, etc., of a person or thing; confidence.
Something I wish you gave more to me.
Your last relationship ended in you being hurt. I let things slide for a little bit, but I felt prisoned. You kept me in your sunlight, but never let me out of your orbit. At times, I felt like your gravitational pull pushed down too hard on me.
You said that you just never wanted to share me, in fear of losing me. You never had to share me. Nobody shared the sunsets that radiated off the tips of your hair, or the lightning that pulsated through our veins.
Family [fam-uh-lee] noun – a basic social unit consisting of parents and their children, considered as a group, whether dwelling together or not.
You said you were jealous of mine. You wish you had one yourself. I wanted to tell you that you did have one. It was one phone call away, and can easily be found again with an “I’m sorry.”
End [end] noun – the furthermost imaginable place or point.
We said we would see a lot of things together, but never the end.
Time [tahym] noun – duration regarded as belonging to the present life as distinct from the life to come or from eternity.
Something I wish we had more of. We had a lot of it together. Too much sometimes. But it was our time, and it ended because we both lost that spark. Maybe we’ll find it again, or maybe we can both catch lightning in a bottle with someone else. I just hope my lightning passes through your subconscious every once and a while. Even if it’s just momentarily when you’re eating food at the dinner table, or if it’s for hours on end when you lay in bed.
Change [cheynj] verb – to make the form, nature, content, future course, etc., of (something) different from what it is or from what it would be if left alone.
You were changing. I wasn’t. You changed without me. It was like a star dying. When the Crab Nebula exploded, many people on Earth still perceived it as a dot in the sky. It took astronomers many centuries to later discover that the star had imploded and become weightless light, travelling now on its own. I didn’t see you collapse.
Loss [laws] noun – deprivation from failure to keep, have, or get.
Forward [fawr-werd] adverb – toward or at a place, point, or time in advance; onward; ahead.
It’s hard to move forward when there’s so much to look back on. I look back and try to see where it all went wrong. When did the sun finally set? When did the spark fade? When did the lights go out? When did the sands begin to shift?
Conclusion [kuh n-kloo-zhuhn] noun – the end or close; final part.
Endings are never how you picture things to be. Endings are the only thing we have no control over. I remember one time we both said what would happen if it all would end. We were sitting on the hood of my car after our high school graduation dinner. We had parked in front of a lake, where the stars were looking down at us. The only thing that was visible was the glare from the lake that came from the headlights of my car and the lightly painted coat of white on the grass that came from the moon. We were still in our graduation gowns, but we decided to throw our caps into the lake together, so that someday we could come back and try to find them again. I like that word: Again.
We stayed underneath the purple Indian-Summer night sky and talked about the potentials and inevitable. The impossible and the nearly forgotten. We were together for 3 years at that time, and we promised that if things ever became different that we would still be close, and we would never hate each other. I kissed her on the lips, and I opened my eyes to see my sunset again. I tell her I could never hate someone that I shared so many years with, and that The End is far away from us. I draw in closer to her, while we both still sit upright on the hood of my car. I put my arm around her, and say “I never knew how forever felt like, until I held it in my arms.” She buries her head into my chest, and I make sure her ocean waves didn’t recede from me. I kept her close and never let her go, like wind being caught into a sail on a sailboat.
I told her that I sometimes forgot what the moon looked like. I tell her it’s because the moonlight was always too busy lighting up her face for me to pay enough attention to it. We both look up at the moon and see that it was crescent. We both begin to talk about how we shouldn’t have thrown our caps in the lake, but we should have thrown them high enough in the air so that the moon would catch them and land perfectly on its pointed end. If we did this, then we would have to go to the moon together one day and get them back. She looked at me, and said “Someday, we’ll find them together.” I like that word: Someday.
She kisses me on the lips, and she began to laugh with her lips still touching mine. When she laughed, the wind began to pick up. For the next five seconds all I could hear were the trees rustling, the grass grazing, and her laugh. It all seemed orchestrated together to make the perfect sound.
I wasn’t on Earth anymore. I wasn’t in the Milky Way Galaxy. I was far away from anything familiar outside of us. I was watching the sunset gazing at the night sky. I have never felt so bright in the darkness. I was there. We were together. We were home.
Stranger [streyn-jer] noun – a person with whom one has had no personal acquaintance.
See also Us.
Euphoria [yoo-fawr-ee-uh] noun – a state of intense happiness and self-confidence.
See also Us.