Rendezvous
04 March 13 : 01.26 AM
Trapped 6
It was night and night was never too short before, not as short as it is now, never was, but now it is.
So I made a boy up in my head.
"You are every single boy I've ever written about," I would whispered to him. He would say something in return, something funny or witty, but I wouldn't know what he would say because I made him up in my head.
For a moment, I would believe that.
But he was not. Not those boys with too much amphetamine coursing their veins, smoke in their chests. A little rusty, a little damaged. Too much words etched on their bruised skin. The boy to change, the boy to put on the right track. The boy who runs away.
But then I realised he is. He really is.
He would be the boy to put me on the right track. I would become the one to change. I would become the one running. Amphetamines in my blood and a constant fear of staying still (yet still providing that semblance of stability; that shell must have still been there). A constant need to stay away. The roles will reverse because that's just the dynamics of two crazy people.
He will be. My boy-Hades who stole me away (and then true enough, I start to cause seasons as I come and leave). The tender one still here. Here. Sane and holding me down. The one I wrote conversations in my head and pen them down as words between star-struck lovers disguised as stories. The beautiful conversations, the most beautiful ones. The beautiful ones that I would keep, safeguard like wishes. To see him&I in every perfect love song ever written. Every love story//poem ever told. The fictional ones written by alain de botton and ee cummings, but also the real ones in Anais and Henry. The boys in my Weetzie Bat books. The dangerous angels. The tender ones always ready to pick up the pieces. Those pieces Fiona Apple talked about.
The boy who would buy me my libraries and bring me to see Prague and Athens and all those cities that filled my imagination as an adolescent. The glass homes high up in city lights. And still kiss me on the neck as he sneaks up on me when he gets home. Every. single. night. (I endure the flight)
Then maybe because I had written about these two boys—Boy-damaged and Boy-sane—the boys I had always made up in my head, that suddenly my heart had made space for both. So when Boy-sane comes into my life, it would be like, he had to be Boy-damaged too. Because if he were Boy-damaged I had to become the sane one.
Then, that's when the trouble begins.
Why do I keep making up people in my head?