Need You Now

This happened on a perfect day. At the end of that perfect day, I wanted to scream. The next writing exercise is that scream in so many words. Words I can say to anybody without revealing any particular identity.

Title inspired by Lady Antebellum's hit "Need You Now". Played in loop.

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The beginning of a song is always the easiest. The words are always the clearest, before the chorus corrupts your train of thought, and you forget that you wish to keep a clear mind. Writing isn’t always that easy. I didn’t know how to start this, so I made up some things about a song that doesn’t even have anything to do with what I’m about to say.

Look, today it has been ten years since we parted and I’m finding excuses to find you again. And I wonder if I’ve ever stopped doing so. The last hug told nothing at all; it couldn’t predict the years I had to live through trying to substitute you with a face in the crowd and failing. People change; I don’t. They’re interested in other people; I am not. You are my fetish. Obsession.

I won’t die for you, but I’d kill. At least that should tell you how far I would go.

It’s eleven twenty three now. Near midnight. Thirty-seven minutes to the end of a one-sided anniversary, and I’m thinking of saying goodbye for the infinite times. I hope you’re reading this, because somewhere inside you there should be a recognition that this is true. If my memory is as reliable as it is cold, I made an impression on you. And before your hypothetical death, before that last breath, when your whole life flashes before the light consumes entirely, you will see my face for a glimpse and you will recognize me.

To me, you will live forever inside this head, always at that age before you reached adulthood, and that is why I see you dying in theory but never in reality. Don’t flinch. I haven’t.

I don’t understand why we left each other. Wasn’t there something we could do? Fought it out? Persevered? Went counseling? Stopped the insanity at the door, and threw some salt to ward off bad luck?

You know what, I’ve forgotten the root of it all, but I still remember how raw it was.

Is. Still hurts.

It’s like a rabies wound, scabbed and scratched till it bleeds again, leading nowhere, and yet I can’t give it up. Only magic works on it.

This magic takes place the moment courage soars high enough for me to hope. Frankly, that doesn’t happen very often and it’s a fickle bird. I’ve dreamt of the times you felt real. Corporeal. A flesh and blood, warm. You were there, always. What did you see when I was in front of you? Had I ever crossed your mind? What did you sense when I touched your palm?

I traced a line there. A lifeline. It screamed, never let me go.

You couldn’t hear.

My kind of magic brings me in front of you again. This time you look at me, instead of the person I should be. Your hands are trapped in mine, fingers clutching till it hurts. In my kind of magic, you hear me loud and clear.

I drew blood just thinking of that. Not enough to scar; you know what I think about the ones you can see from the outside. The lucky ones. The ones that will eventually heal and become dear. They fade, like your face in my mind. Was it luck that threw us together into the same space and time? You from one corner of this earth and I from the beginning of time, damaged and morbidly defenseless the moment I saw you. I had biscuit as my walls; the crackers drowned in milk and turned into mush. You stepped in without effort and you called my name. I fell.

As I said, morbidly defenseless.

I had no chance. They said it like it was myth. At first sight.

Grain of truth. I’m keeping this as mine and mine own only. I bet you’ve never had this physical jolt that punches you in the gut when you realize that you’ve been tightening the blindfold around your eyes, only to discover that it’s made of sheer and the thing you’ve been avoiding is now eye-to-eye, staring.

Hello, you.

When you read this, take into account the ten years you’ve gained and lost. If my magic works, I would see your name again. The crowd would disperse and I would see the face you’re now wearing. You will be standing there, as tall as the beanstalk. As still as a post.

If I close my eyes, I am now facing you, reaching out.

I wait and touch an invisible line.

This is where the magic stops.

And hope begins.

Singapore

March 1, 2010