I like to tell stories. It comes from my grandmother. She was a storyteller. When we were little, and she would tell a story, everyone would hang on her lips. If any of the adults would be walking by, they’d stop too for a moment, couldn’t help but listen. So growing up like that, I like to tell stories too. Sometimes what I tell is true, sometimes it’s completely made up. Sometimes I am so certain that as I’m weaving the words here, somewhere they are breathing life into real people and someone somewhere is living as I’m writing. I can’t be the god of a new world, I can’t be the goddess of the ages but I would love to be. I’d write them, my people, stories of love and longing. I’d write them, my people, stories of romance and high in the clouds, I’d sit and I’d watch them, I’d sit and I’d sing. Songs, songs on the wind, hopes in their hearts and dreams like a nightingale. I’d tell them this story.
I walked along the paths of this fair, not very long ago. I walked along the lanes of my memories. I walked along and I walked along and suddenly, awoken from the absence of my wandering mind, I saw your face. About to step up onto this ride, threw back your head and laughed. You stopped me in your tracks, you stopped me. I had to stand and I had to watch you for a while. Hundreds of people but my eyes alighted on you. Hundreds of sounds but my ears caught your laughter like the sound of that first wave. Flows, it comes, flows and flies back, yearning; it creates a yearning in my heart. You are not alone and so I see you, holding her hand, reaching out and tucking her hair behind her ear and she looks at you with love and I’m just an outsider.
You take care of her, see, how gentle you are, how careful, watching her steps, treasuring her, keeping her. She makes a joke perhaps, you smile, and you step up. The ride would leave soon, you’d sit on that chair with her, you’d touch your fingers to her face and I see on your face, the part where you feel like the ride will begin, and it’s the ride of your life. The part where your love will bloom and you’d love her for all your days to come. And it all began here, here at this fair, as I watched you. I see, perhaps, the way the time will pass. Didn’t I say this will be a story?
I see, perhaps, the way your life will unfold in front of my eyes. One day holding hands, the next, holding each other. Waking up together, in the same bed, going to sleep, in the comfort of each other, burying yourself in the familiar, burying yourself in all the things you’d do together. It makes me remember… In another life, when we flew kites together, when we ran across the green, green grass, laughing and the kites chasing us, the wind rocking us, gently, so gently. I remember it like it was yesterday, I remember it like it was my life and now I am reincarnated. You see, we were together. You see, we went up this ride together and I was afraid so you joked with me and held me close and told me nothing would happen. You see, I saw the world through your eyes. I saw the truth dawn and I saw it through you. You taught me, you loved me and we wove together like strings, red strings, of a warm, warm wool. Intertwined, together, we wove together, we knotted together the worlds, we created the spools that revolved around us, until we were in the center, right in the center and the world revolved around us. Do you remember? Do you remember?
The waves crashed and the storms broke and time thundered by. The horses rode and the sand was swept up and the water drenched us through. Do you remember the storms we faced together? Do you remember the lightning that burned marks on our hands but we didn’t let go? Do you remember, do you remember, the clouds of rain that made us wet, the clouds and mists we walked through, danced through? Do you remember?
Jerked awake. Back in my reality. Back in this world. I see you, still standing there. Ready to take that step, into the fold, into the beginning. Ready to walk inside, ready to breathe her, take her. I see you.
I see you and I have to walk on. I have to walk on. There is no place for me. There is no ride waiting, it’s already gone, flung away, in anger, in fury. Have to keep walking, walking so fast. Glancing back, yes, that’s what I do, glancing back and seeing through. I already lived, I saw you and I lived again. And now, now keep walking on…