Three Thousand Days and Nights of You

This is a world where the scent of spring flowers in her midst, flowing freely from her fingertips and fusing itself with the air that nourishes my lungs. Here is where I breathe her, satiating my arteries so that my heart may live a little more and die a little less each day. This is a world where to look at her eyes is to breach the limits of adoration. For she is beauty given flesh and soul, the lifelong search for everything beautiful ends where her smile begins. Here is where I try to find her, hoping that at least for once she has been in the eyes of the many strangers I have met on days either better or worse. Love is the lingua franca of the speechless, so I tried to speak eight lonesome years into a sentence of eight letters. Here is where I realized that the words have always been wherever I went:

I miss her.

Throughout hundreds of quiet evenings, the loneliest boy in the Pacific imagines the taste of all the sweet summers he can drink from the lips of the lady, she whose seed for affection is yet to germinate in her heart. I am the boy and the only music I hear in all of my reveries is her heartbeat. It sings from across a thousand miles of the terra incognita I am more than willing to cross. For three thousand days and nights, the pulses reach my ears like voices in a lullaby bleeding all emotions known to mankind and reciting every familiar word except one—my name.

In all my dreams of her, I kneel before the marquee of her memories floating endlessly on the ebony horizon. I spread my arms wide enough so that my heart may reach out to a star too remote that it is perhaps its own galaxy, like a solitary creature believing that love can only be had in a deserted island. After I build our castle in the sky, the warm earth is my bed and my skin is my blanket. The constellations start to outline all the smiles she has never given in daylight. By dawn and with eyes still shut, the sun will wash my face with the light of a million empty mornings. She and I have never witnessed hand-in-hand those countless lunar explosions in the past, but I love her just the same.

In my sleep, she hides behind an immutable smokescreen. It diffuses her scent and reduces her into a hundred silhouettes until she is both everywhere and nowhere. From here to elsewhere, her distance becomes a mathematical illusion, like numbers desperately trying to overcome the impossibility of dividing their selves with zero so that they can finally be real at least for once. By the time I wake up, I relish the flavor of her name as if I own it more than anybody else. I carefully whisper every syllable so that her name will float in the air even if it carries the weight of my dreams.

I can feel her. The taste of forever has never been this good.

Of all the days she has been away, today is unlike the rest. My thoughts travel beyond the corners of my bed and the edge of all my desires, wandering through lands of strange tongues in search of the lady. They embrace her halfway around the world where she sits alone, waiting for her feet to take her to another journey where this boy is not needed. If only she is willing to heed my plea and bless my lips with one, her kiss is enough to bail my heart from this injunction of perpetual solitude. Freedom will be had at the cost of losing her for the rest of my life.

Time zones are too strange for someone who has never really been anywhere except the places she once has been. I am where she was in the past and she is where I will be in the future. For the universe is infinite and it is infinitely nothing, she and I own hearts twice the size of our lives combined.

For the last three thousand days and nights, my thoughts were yours and yours alone. Tell me if I am still not worthy and I will spare the next three thousand for you and I.