Glancing in all directions there were faces with no bodies, only physical disfigurement. For a physical world so skewed he didn’t recognize anymore, just faces with stories, bodies with horrors, and words to spew. He looked around searching for familiar emotions, guilt to go after someone, promise to talk with another being, justification to realize meaning. Instead he stood aside wondering and pondering such place. A boat on the vast ocean drifting in and out of danger, pushing through waves of saturated stupidity and failed promises. This man used to float alongside such beings, he used to chat with such things, he used to act like he wanted encounters with said flings. He used to, but now he frets such frills as he peels away from the limelight, spotlights, centre stages, and quiet rages.

Not too long ago the man died. One would think a man dieing would be the end of his very existence completely. The man would ask, “Well, define existence?” We merely exist to each other as physical beings; inside we are populated by a mass existence of unique quirks, opinions, and morals. All arguing innocently for control. We exist to ourselves with far greater meaning.

His death was painless in the fact it only killed one person. Not him but another one close to him. The act of killing was a feat conquered by the sun. The centre of his universe. A big bang-esque that created the heavens also created his dwelling, painful feelings and ostracized meaning. Dehydrated he was from the very love he held dear. Scourging a dry mouth of thirst as he weakingly yearned to feel the relinquishing deep waters of wonder she could overflow with just a glance. The sun had dried up all that was left for some reason. The very essence of all power somehow set to destroy; yet the stigmata of power never renders positivism.

Not to long ago I ran into this man. We had chatted many times about the world, in fact the conversations of days were a regular occurrence. He told me the story of that night. He told me the story of many nights. He explained the sweetness expelled in songs, he admitted defeat for the many wrongs, and asked of questions for times when defeat seemed long.

“Jay, I think I loved a girl.” I said you must be crazy, what do you mean you think you loved a girl. You have loved once my friend, I was there for the dolorous years, and you wear the battle scars of such an epoch. He exclaimed no.

We all love the things we can see, and before her I did once love the imagery of someone but was that love? The mind cannot love what it can’t conceive. Loving for the sake of loving is for the physical world. Jay, I love something I can’t even see, predict, or dream of becoming real. Render me with insanity if you will, there’s something to be said for this. I’ve had the pleasure of encountering the greatest things this world has offered. Whilst before my eyes I received such pleasure and associated it with the grandeur of amour. Taken from me it was, yet connections remain. Days have passed, months have passed, seasons changed, the beings have changed. Germinating in the inner being has been a pleasing unforeseen.

Why I asked, and how, I posted in question. The basis for this girl was so bittersweet; surely by the sheer magnitude you would think she was yours for a very long while. Yet, I know the story, your enchantress was a mere blip on the timeline of life and love.

He told me once he saw the world’s first REAL smile while she sang the words to Mr. Brightside in the car. Quite possibly the purest thing this world could ever produce. It was a benchmark for all smiles and a challenge to see if he could make her smile just the same. Many miracles have been recorded on this planet, fragments of time witnessed by so few, yet echo forever. Even on the faces of other beings he holds dear in his life, he has never seen such again.

Days of coffee, movies, and tender goodbyes were all his thoughts as these days passed by. Missing the great, as he wished himself to sleep on spiraling dreams of witnessing her fair face. The reverberations of that genuine moment captured his soul and eyes for greatness.

What do you do? I asked with anticipation. The wondrous sounds of stories told made me jealous with anticipation.

So a floating I go. It’s hard to stay in this world, when you’ve spent so much time outside it in the company of amazement. The world will work against me. I will be critiqued and broken down into trampled pieces. My only hope is those pieces stick to the feet of some, spreading such wondrous opportunity so as to someday I can recall such glory. I do not know the outcome of that day, but the penetrating stare of beauty agaze will produce such speech of the yearning to say, Miss, Your ã girl for me. In my defeat I ask for nothing, and as such I deserve nothing. A beautiful enigma solved only by the splendor that manifested said phenomenon. For others love I don’t recognize, this world at least…