It happens whenever I think of this girl.
I know there’s no feeling there,
There used to be, but that’s all said and done with.
I mean, it was so long ago, something not even worth getting
Moot, it’d be rude
If I just tossed it out like a shoe from the attic, right?
But do I know?
As soon as her name’s in my mind
I start to fantasize, imagine what was,
What could have been,
What will never be,
And what can still happen given the probabilistic inevitability of existing between single
Degrees of separation,
Despite the degrees of latitude—
The different attitudes
Don’t matter when you have exactly what it is you’ve always wanted and have
Decided that you nevereverever want to let go of it. And after all, a candle once lit and snuffed is still a good candle, right? After all, if your mind wanders to something, it must have some reason for its affinity, right? Some reason nestled deep down, buried, maybe tunneled, but latent regardless.
You see her, only in bits over years
Changing, but still what you can understand given what was known before, although
That memory will undoubtedly fade
The warm brown eyes that shook your knees, the allure,
The knowledge that this is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever set eyes on,
Piercing your heart and simultaneously sending that fleeting, adrenalinistic sensation that reminds us of our entire central nervous system in fractions of fractions of fractions of seconds, all the while inducing cold sweats, and releasing a swarm of butterflies into the digestive system.
The spot of hair that grew over time
To become a brown lock that settled endearingly on the eyebrow,
Holding the promise that you could brush it aside,
Look into the eyes behind it,
Gaze silently, without words, without thoughts
And know the feeling of being unconditionally loved,
And escape the fear of ever being alone again.
A wild promise. One taken to heart, but unrealistic and idealistic all at once.
Emotion more real and vivid than any before be they
Joy, satisfaction, success, acceptance, isolation;
But emotion rooted in a blink of circumstance and luck,
Confined to one point in time, occurring at no other points under no other conditions, only the interval
The rate of which grew very quickly,
The encompassed area of which, is very large,
The limit of which is infinite at 7.2009…
But no new observations change that
By it’s nature, it is impossibly existent and only discontinuous or imaginary at any and all other points, and thus
Exhaustive to fantasize about.
And yet, the fantasies are here.
Yet, I can’t forget the hands that met my own,
The assurance of someone’s likelihood to pick my company
100 out of 100 times, and myself theirs,
The laughs, the stories, the secrets,
The confessions, the realizations, the cultivation of trust
Pouring your soul into another being,
Being more honest than ever before, finding that
Knowing they won’t deny you, wouldn’t want to,
Wouldn’t leave you unless they had to;
And they have to,
They had to.
But, it’s just fantasy.
It comes and goes.
If I had the ability to forget it forever: