We started out normal enough: girl meets boy. Strangers made something more because of a mutual love for terrible puns and cheesy one-liners. In the depressingly cliché setting of a warm summer evening lighted by tiny yellow fairy lights hanging off of trees, you and I started on something. A chapter that would halt all the others and trap us, blissful and unaware, on a carousel forever turning; its headache-inducing music drilling into your skull, dull and permanent, as your eyes moved from vibrant reds to bright yellows to mellow blues and back to the reds.
Chaos and routine—not co-existing, but born of the other. Chaos in the routine. A routine chaos? I don’t know how that worked—how did we? It wasn’t simply a case of fire and ice it was—we were—different, just different dimensions. Like a hard-boiled egg and a microwave. Immiscible. Non-functional.
But we were happy, weren’t we? God were we happy. The first few years simply a whirlwind of summer dresses and picnics and warm sweaters and movies and texts and birthdays and leaves. We thought ourselves so clever; unique. Scoffed at all the others. At the things crumbling all around us, so very sure it wouldn’t happen to us. Surely, not to us.
Of course not to us.
We didn’t burn bright. We were far too…true to be that. We smouldered: cosy and warm and for far, far longer. Laughs alongside the dark and twisty; hands clasped unconsciously, somehow just forgetting to let go. I looked at you, convinced this was it, and you did the same. It was just so very easy to think this destiny. Neither of us believed in all that idealistic hogwash but somehow, during those late nights, we almost did. It seems stupid now and to be honest it did then too but we didn’t care. It was cheesy and delusional but it didn’t matter. This was it for us.
I wish I could say there was a moment it all went downhill. A moment I looked into your eyes and didn’t see the same things; a moment where standing next to you stopped being comforting and right. Some period in time where I stopped telling you all of me. But I can’t, because none of those things have happened. We haven’t gone downhill, but…
There’s a ‘but’ that wasn’t there before. A hesitation so out of place with us.
We dissolved slowly and loudly—and yet it went almost unnoticed. Almost. We fought against it, didn’t we? We did, we fought so hard and for so long. And when we couldn’t fight anymore it turned out we couldn’t just let go either. Hands still simply forgetting to let go. And so we sit in the carousel, looking at the lights, at the reds and yellows and blues, at the cold night sky and the stars sprinkled across. Some days you look at me and I see it again and some days I look at you and you see it again. And some days it’s just the empty carousel, spinning.
Stagnant. Forever only the possibility of salvation.