June 15, 2016

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.