nevermind that.
He was a visionary with a backpack full of dreams, and I fell in love with his insight. He’d tell me stories about his unaccompanied trips to explore things through someone else’s eyes. I dreamt about sitting on third stories rooftops having conversations with this young man as the street lights shined brightly, up until the second story windows then faded into a dim light backdrop for our moonlight setting; it gleamed on our faces like we were born for the spotlight. There was just enough reflecting to tell when we allowed our eyes to blink from the stale air; just enough to see the intrigued look that faded away as we tilted our heads down toward each others slow paced feet kicking against the brick wall.
He carried a camera around his neck that hung just even with his waist, and a notebook small enough to fit into his roughly faded jeans pocket. He made traveling through the wooded area of my back yard seem exciting. His opinion about life experiences made me eager for his intellect. I like the way he walks with his hands in his pockets, all but his thumbs tucked in; his shoulders hunched and his eyes always watching the paces he would take.
“Don’t you know that catchy phrase-you have to look up every once in awhile or you might miss something” I said. “Everything that has reached its lowest point, has it rock bottom, well that just seems more realistic to me. I watch the ground because it’s more comforting to me", he said. “Besides, every time I glance in your direction your eyes are glued down too.” His smirks made me break my lack-of-emotional expression every time. So I replied, “ If I don’t keep an eye on the very thing that’s holding me up, I’m afraid I’ll slip, and the timing is never right.” We both nodded, and I realized he understood me because as I went to lean against the wall of that old apartment building he took my hand and held it there, never speaking a word. It wasn’t an intimate gesture, but a comforting way of showing he understood.
The entire summer we spent every waking moment together. Neither of us wanted to address the fact that when August came we’d be going out separate ways. He’d be off on more adventures where his snap shots told a more beautiful and expressive story than a thousand words ever could, and I’d be off trying to keep myself busy so I don’t have to actually figure out how to live.
I think I fell in love with his ambition. And I was jealous of his attitude toward life. He said I’m just like him, but I won’t let myself live the life I want to live, the life that really defines me. It felt like we never stopped holding hands until the day I came to say good-bye. I’ve never seen him angry, but he was furious at the fact I was just walking away.
Come on, for once in your life let yourself feel what you are actually feeling. Don’t run away from this, take a chance on hurt for once. Haven't ever you considered that it could hurt to love someone, but in the most beautiful way? “So this is it?” he asked. “Should we go on pretending we didn’t see something in each other, should I pretend we never felt anything like you want to? Will these hundreds of photographs tell any sort of truth?”
There was this visionary boy with a backpack full of dreams that came true with every stop he would take along the way. The only thing he had to give up was relationships of any kind. He made a pact with himself; the only thing he’d ever get attached to would be his works of art.
There I was. I always make people break rules, and I always make people regret it. When he told me he loved me I almost fell apart. No one ever understands the way she thinks. If she stays he’ll put his dreams on hold. His entire routine will come to an end. I love this boy. The collection of photographs we have, as we both posed together for self-timed moments are priceless. I could walk away from this, guarantee he goes on doing what he has been before he met me.
Hey, how does it end-we always wake up right before the final finale of our perfect dream.