I didn’t want to love you…
I didn’t choose to love you…
I know such thing because I am able to recall with meticulous detail the moment I realized that the oath I repeated to myself so many times — that I would not fall in love with you — would be utterly impossible to hold.
You’re sitting in my lap, in my chair, with my hands absently touching your naked, soft legs. An amused laugh precedes that idiosyncratic cry of yours — “My god, yes!” — while you simultaneously choose the next sequence of notes to be echoed throughout this room’s walls, filling the air with music and lyrics of an art I will never possess so I could write them for you… though I wished so… but I am, irrevocably and simply, me. And as such, I resign myself to contemplate your intoxicating existence, drawing a faint smile from who’s head is running a hundred miles per hour, speeding through roads of endless thought.
It is not without irony that two events occur to me at this time…
The first one takes place a couple of days later. While we skim through the set of photos that will forever preserve in print that scented, young image of yours, I comment nonchalantly — almost en passant — that I have never quite realized how beautiful you were. However, it is now to my surprise that this assertion postulates a lie. The truth resides in the fact that at this precise moment, sitting in this chair, nothing is so obvious, nothing is so axiomatically true as that very same proposition: you are perfectly, flawlessly, gorgeous.
By unbalanced symmetry, the second one is drawn from a couple of years ago: the instant you entered energetically and cheerfully into my workroom, as someone who’s fallen for the bittersweet taste of life. Would I have pondered on the possibility to someday hold you tight in my arms, lost amongst moisten sheets due to the ample sweat of the hours that insist running by us… and I would have certainly laughed in disbelief by the extreme improbability of such an exquisite event. But, it seems, that not even all the rigorous products of bayesian factors are able to forecast the surprising fate of those who wander throughout this delightful and absurd existence.
And in between those two events, I find you here, innocently sitting on my lap — “My god, yes!” — while I attentively watch you sing joyfully and without refrain, deeply and anxiously inhaling all life surrounding your being. Your big brown eyes dance, sparkle, and jiggle around imaginary objects painted the same color of the next tune you choose to listen…
… when the aforementioned moment comes; where I inadvertently — perhaps unwittingly — glance over your voluptuous red lips, certainly designed with the sole purpose of making myself loose so helplessly in them. And with a swift and impromptu attitude, an absolute silence rushes to surround me… and the beating of my heart is suspended for what seems like an eternity… and my legs tremble beneath your precious body.
I didn’t want to love you…
I didn’t choose to love you…
And you, so steeped in that contagious happiness, might have just missed that moment where you became the reason for forever holding this slice of spacetime within me.