The melodious notes from your piano twirl with the dust motes in the room. A bittersweet melancholy descends over our heads as I sit by your side, captivated by the hauntingly beautiful dance of your fingers. I remember telling you the words we exchange is what I treasure the most. As your tunes wash over me and the sunbeams of the dawn light up the balcony, I realize that it wasn’t true.
Words are contextual and to define is to limit. It’s this warmth you radiate and this music your fingers play that I treasure in my heart. This unspoken exchange that can translate as whatever we want it to be or remain a beautiful reminder that we’re indefinable infinities.
I lead you to the balcony, and the world below is sharing our silence. We spread out our arms like nightingales about to take flight. You once told me that in the afterlife, we’ll all be dealt with as we believed it to be. I’m star-struck by the way you believe in things because I’m clueless about the trajectories of the past or the events that will mark the future.
But in this moment, with your lashes fluttering in the wind and our arms soaring in the sky, it dawns on me. With every bit of my cold little heart, I believe that we can fly.