Silver Lining

Seeing, even imagining his face, brings a certain calm to my incessantly trembling soul. It seems alien to me, this feeling. The way my heart beats steadily, rhythmic, almost without fear; the way my lips produce gibberish fluidly, in the absence of consciousness for proper syntax and grammar; the obvious softening of my voice, far from the daily shrill and staccato spat on everyday faces; how my stomach does not hesitate to devour every dish on the table, minus the pacing and the manners and the caution. Being with him feels like being locked forever in a bear hug so comfortable I would be willing to open up to slumber till eternity.

And if it smelled like anything, it would always be jasmine or rosewater or fruits and flowers. And if tasted like something, it would be warm chocolate milk on a rainy night or semi-sweet pancakes with whipped cream and fresh strawberries or melon in the early morning. He would be day and night and night and day for me, for time never really passes and the seasons rarely change. His voice would sound like the steady chirping of warbles perched on a tree branch while I curl up with a good book on a hammock on a lazy afternoon. He would stand tall and proud of every feat I accomplish and I would be behind cheering him on when he takes a step closer to achieving his dreams. I will be wearing a smile brightly for everyone to see, for I am not ashamed. He and I would be competing on who gets to have the bigger smile.

This is too strange to me; almost too good to be true. We have been on many before, but none like this. It must have been for that reason that Fate chose to place her hand on our shoulders to bathe in that much coveted warm glow. Others would have killed for it. This is probably our reward for bearing the brunt of the past 22 and 27 years despite open wounds.

We just opened our arms, closed our eyes and anticipated the great, greater, plunge. It would be a sin not to take it.