Once upon a time there was a wish.
It lingered upon lips, it warmed palms cold with sweat, it engulfed a heart’s territory, it gave legs motive to keep on moving, it gave eyes ammunition to drown sorrow sighs, it provided a reason to wake up in the morning. It was spread out in the world through deep breaths and it only hoped that you knew. I only hoped that you knew.
That’s how my wish would come true. It would be like touching you with a magic wand or putting a spell on you or even better have an epiphany guided by the universe’s forces. But I never believed in fairy tales. Somehow they always believed in me. Your effect on me has no other explanation.
Sometimes I find myself in a constant effort to find my voice, to let you know. To make you aware of what you are. You deserve to be informed that for me you stand on a pedestal. Next time you catch a cold you’ll know the reason. It’s a lonely, cold, humid, occasionally wintry, place and you stand alone up there.
That is your fate. To be my single, one and only.
You can defy the hostile conditions on your pedestal without any assistance. You have thrown down the gauntlet to the sun’s warmth a long time ago and it was defeated. You don’t need to ameliorate the loving standards on your stand. You are real. And truth is sturdy and enduring. So, I keep on trying to rectify my voice and improve my courage, to let you know. Should I speak with human eloquence and angelic ecstacy? Should I speak God’s word with power revealing all His mysteries? Should I speak with all the images, colors, and shapes you’ve formed in my reality? Should I speak with a song and waste away my empty voice creating sounds in your ears? Should I speak it on a piece of paper and let the lines do the work for me?
I would exchange my heart for a pen of yours. I would exchange this red, beating, pumping contraption in my chest, this intimidated, hiding in the corner organ, for a conversation with you. Not the internal monologues I have become a victim of. At first, they provided a safety net to my whispering voice in my mind about you, but as time passes by this net surrounds me causing asphyxiation, as your truth makes a clattering sound which takes up all the space I have to breathe.
What makes it confident and still going is that I’m not an optimist. I don’t imagine you in an eternally happy bubble, in a romanticized movie relationship notion, not even in a state where everything works out perfectly and we flow peacefully together like a water stream. Your truth remains solid despite all these images. My experience in the real world -the one outside the prosperous fairytale you are made of- has shown me that people never really fit to come together; they work to adjust to one another.
The harder you want it the harder it gets. So, through all this lost optimism, established confidence, pedestal truth and self-chosen obstacles, my wish and I, still hope one day to find the nerve to be heard by you.
The world already knows.
You are universal.
Like every single truth.
That’s how I know we can live happily ever after.