For a man who is terrified of swimming
into the seas, I sure did make the right call plunging into the waters in pursuit
of you. I still remember the first time I laid my eyes on you—you the shy
thirteen year old you. I was already seventeen then, but given that I was at
the same time already committed to a puppy love affair that was actually doomed
from the start, I didn’t really pay too much attention to that particular first
time. But I know I had to remember that moment, as I am doing now.
I turned eighteen around two or
three months after that, and you fourteen after another couple of months. I had
already had my heart broken then. You still had yours kept afloat on the love
affair of your own. But that didn’t last long either. Skip to the next two
months, we found ourselves alone in our individual infinity. That’s right, I’m
buying into the shit John Green said about infinities. But, yeah, we found
ourselves alone.
You were fourteen and I was
eighteen. You were June and I was October. It didn’t sound very romantic, not
even perhaps appropriate then.
But somehow we found a way to
distort space-time and meet each other in a dimension that I knew was meant for
us. You burst out of June and I skidded out of October, and we saw eye-to-eye,
standing across each other in September. And life became stellar since then.
I was there in a lot of your
phases, and you were there in mine. We laughed, we cried, we kissed, we danced
in tornadoes and in fair skies, and here we are still stiff, polished and tuned
for the rest of our unified infinity.
And now you’re twenty-one, and
I’m twenty-five. See, it doesn’t sound so odd now. But I still remember the
first time I laid my eyes on you, you at thirteen. I would remember it from
time to time, because you always remember that first time—that very first
instance—when you lay your eyes on to someone and that someone has made your
life worth the length of every infinity.
