Your name sounds like a battle cry in my heart, reverberating across my synapses and pounding in my head - fierce and loud. Inside this sheath that I have built you, your edges are sharp. I worry about how to keep you there. But oh, really, who am I kidding? You are no one. I lost the soft parts of you months ago. The parts that held my hand and called me “baby” are nothing but pieces of my history now, like something you read about in a textbook late at night when the lines start blurring together and facts become impressions which become ideas which become blurs.
With everything ahead of us, we left everything behind. We turned, looked each other in the eyes, and spat. There were so many words, so much profaning of the beautiful, so many raw parts of my soul. And who are we now? Not the same girls who walked the streets of San Francisco until we knew them better than we knew ourselves, but less than we knew each other. Not the ones who befriended vegetable sellers and slept together on beaches wrapped around each other under a sky that stretched forever. Not the ones who went on sushi dates and shared the same passions for food, exotic music, and adventure. We called ourselves puzzle pieces, best friends, lovers.
But as the days became colder and the nights longer, everything began to unravel. I lost you as much as you lost me, and with it went a part of me that I don’t know how to find again. I search and search and only find more questions within myself. I worry about that lost piece, because it’s bigger than you and me. No, things dissolve and all joy comes with an expiration date. I've come to accept the loss of us. I just don’t know what to do with the pieces of me that are still fighting with the remnants of you.
And really, really this is so much more. It involves others because it involves how I can relate to them - so many faces and so much potential. I have messed up more things than I care to admit. I wish that I could look her in the eye and say that I am afraid, that I can’t make myself vulnerable again. But I can’t. Even to admit to fear is somehow terrifying. Because I know, know that I am over you but somehow cannot move with the kind of loose-limbed freedom that I once could. I cannot lose my fear enough to throw myself into something and make it work.
And so here I am, moving from existence to existence. I am every color - a different thing and a different face to every person. I am the best and the worst chameleon because I have so many layers that it is hard to tell when my soul is laid bare. And then there is the crux of it all. The truth at the center is that sometimes my heart tries to escape you. It beats twice as fast. Twice as fast as sin and always too fast for redemption.
People in love always talk about their hearts racing. It’s another thing that I don't quite understand because I can't help but think that the real question is quite different. What’s done is done. But now, who will make my heart slow down? Who can conquer time and erase the past and future so that there is only the present and a heart that doesn't need to race, only to beat strong and slow? Such questions have no real answers because perhaps the hunt is its own answer even more so than the treasure at the end of it. Its as much a search for self as a loss thereof. But then isn't that just another imponderable and another color in the print?
I don’t know. I think that when I lost you, I lost my innocence.