Many Million Dreams Ago • Ch. 10 of 10
The Chapter’s Song:
The name is unknown, the face is blurry, and the voice I have yet to hear. Still, I know her. The final piece of the puzzle. Where I may finally find her remains a mystery and maybe I won’t even be looking once I do.
There are a few things which I allow myself to continue on thinking about—, in every sort of angle down to the smallest detail. Events and stages of my life which I haven’t yet achieved. Memories from the past flood in through my psyche and I can’t help but wonder where I’d be today had I become who I was always meant to be. The story goes on. The possibilities are endless. I can’t stop at one single scenario—, there are still too many unwritten ones to count and write about.
I dream about the wedding; white tablecloths with bouquets of dried red roses sitting in their centers; an incredible contrast of what was and what is still to be. Stringed instruments play Mozart on a loop. Flower petals rain down like colorful confetti. It’s all so impeccably picturesque. The lights dim, the choir sings—, the ceremony begins. She enters everyone’s line of sight. She is not just an image of mere perfection nor solely radiates the light of beatific love, no. The bride is beyond beautiful.
I dream about the marriage; constant laughter, a sense of harmonized peace, two against the world. There is no obstacle too great, no barrier too big. We handle it. A single path converged from smaller trails that were less important before finally merging. It doesn’t matter where we live or how big our house or loft in the sky is—, we make our home feel like a castle. Cozy, comfortable, and an atmosphere of consistent love exudes throughout. We give each other quick stares when we’re out in public, like we already know what we’re thinking. We go out on dinner dates with longtime friends and fidget in our chairs—, impatiently waiting to get back home again and resume our normal, nightly routine. Overflowing bubble baths with black and white movies from decades gone by in the background. We don’t have to finish each other’s sentences—, we’re already thinking the same thoughts. We don’t have to make time for each other—, we’re already our first priorities. We are what everyone around us considers to be “a happy couple.”
I dream about the woman, herself; my own Song of Songs with Esther’s courage and glowing of something godly. With closed eyes, I let my thoughts swirl themselves toward a figure I can’t yet fully describe. Though she exists. She walks with purpose, speaks with appeal, and is overflowing with charisma. She exists; somewhere—, out beyond the horizon of my mind’s eye. In another realm, another sphere of being. Ethereal obsession; marked by the way she says my name. A place where perfect skin and scars can mix. That’s where I’ll find her. Draped in silk and dripping with just the right amount of narcissism. That’s when I’ll find her. At our world’s end. A new beginning awaits then—, with laced-up boots and breathy tones.
“I am yours,” she whispers while thinking, and you are mine. All hers. Forever. She is cultured to a point that makes me feel like I have so much further to go myself. She knows what she likes and why she likes it. A conversationalist—, she can speak to anyone from the most educated to the homeless on the street. She is not above, nor below anything.
Deeper. She wears three-inch heels everywhere she goes. Skin-tight jeans and see- through tops when in the house. Hair up in the morning—, down by sunset. She emits a style all her own. A natural beauty—, minimum makeup, far less foundation than the rest of her friends. Slightly-rouged cheeks and pink-tinted lips. She is polished and graceful in all she does and says. A kind, courteous spirit lives within her body. Stays away from gossip and never spreads rumors—, she is who everyone calls for advice.
Deeper. Our first time meeting is memorable. She and I make eye-contact throughout the strangers crowding the room and slowly start moving toward each other without trying to seem like we’re slowly starting to move toward each other. We finally erase the wide space in-between our two bodies and stand a mere few feet apart. I’m borderline-awkward while trying to introduce myself—, she playfully laughs and does the same. I look deep inside her eyes and swear Cupid must’ve shot me straight in the back because all I can see are bright, smoldering stars. An overwhelming sensation takes center- stage as a new lead actress is crowned and given a multitude of red rose-bouquets in the form of clumsy compliments coming out of my mouth.
“You look..., nice,” I say with more weight attached to the word than ever before.
“Thank you—,” she says before returning the remark. We dance. Or maybe we just take a couple of seats and talk for the rest of the evening. Either way—, we know we won’t be forgetting one another. Something special happens in the room that night. Something—, cosmic. Or at the very least—, something out of our control. Our names play games with our tongues for the next few days. Our faces are imprinted onto the frontal lobes of each other’s brains and we swear that we can see them on every person we pass on the street—, on every block, in every store. We finally ready ourselves and reach for the phone—, finding the right contact and calling ahead of dating-rule-schedules. We couldn’t resist, the wait was too much.
“Hi—,” one of us says.
“Hi—,” the other replies. And so it begins. Not just the telephone conversation but the journey our two paths have intervened for from here on out. Our speaking patterns are a thing of beauty—, where one drops off the other picks up, there is no self-conscious silence or unease of any kind. We flow in and out of verbal wordplay—, a matrimony of consonants and vowels. She is—, of Poetess-caliber.
Always—, deeper. We attract like water. Droplets of rain pooled together atop a patio table, we advance and reach each other’s edges—, merging, growing. We are one—, atop a patio table. Contoured compulsion; a blending of unbearable desire. It’s what we do. Two shades of the same color on The Painter’s palette—, whisked and mixed together. He uses us to create. Impassioned portraiture. She is my favorite, everything. A sunburst, a shadow—, a perfect time to find my other. Raised heart-rates—, one hundred-and-some beats per minute.
“Maestro..., faster.” She waves her wand while conducting my body’s orchestra to full- crescendo. What a spiritual symphony we’ve created. Angels watch from above. Analyze. Envy. We don’t blame them. We’re envious of ourselves—, being unable to rewind time and repeat past movements. Emulation is all we have left. Breathe. Fingernails running across two backs. Palm prints on the steam-streaked shower door. Breathe. Sweat seeping through mutual skin. Glorified agony of our five senses. Again, we breathe. Inhaling one another. Fine hair that’s individually numbered. Lush lips that pout when speaking pleasing things. Long legs that wrap themselves around me. Soft ankles that ache to be caressed. Like the melting lollipops of a humid-conquered Houston summer—, we drip candy-apple red. Swerving—, in and out of faster lanes.
She is my perpetual winter night; like the glimmering snow, a beauty frozen in time. Amidst tree branches and twigs wrapped in ice, her silhouette glides across the wet ground—, beckoning me closer. Her touch is colder than cold—, a degree below the lowest point ever reached. She guides me through the still landscape of a twilight world. This is where we belong—, in a togetherness which keeps each other warm and alive.
She is both sexy and sweet, classy and passionate, ladylike and a luscious lover in every way. Something I’d waited so long for—, and will continue on waiting for until the day finally arrives when we’ll both sense the stirring of sensuality in the air and slowly lean into each other for the first time. Much more than that—, we patiently wait for the moment to finally let ourselves go further. Similar hips shiver with anticipation that;
“Yes..., we’re together and ready.” Indeed. Undone buttons; the jeans we slide down to each other’s feet. Assuredly. By all means. Where’ve you been?, we both wonder of the other. Now that we’re here—, we can safely say it was worth it. Voice; I heard it. Kiss is perfect. The lesson life teaches I took it and learned it so this letter I write; love the way that it’s worded.
I’ve always assumed that the type of woman I’d given my heart to was more important than the woman herself. That I would’ve always fallen in love as deeply as I did—, no matter the person. That it just so happened to be them. I strive to look forward, towards my future however, and I see a very specific outline that I can’t yet flesh out. The blanks are there in the right spots but I don’t yet have the words to fill them in. I realize it’s more than a type of woman I’m looking for—, but her, herself. The fact that I know she exists and is looking for me as well makes everything that came before her that much more valuable. All the shattered dreams, promises, and pictures hanging on walls; mere stepping stones to a brighter future, together. With so many girlfriends gone and so many pacts broken apart, it can all seem so discouraging in trying to find anything as special ever again. Still—, I keep the fire alive, no matter how close it’s come to burning out before. A promise I can make as of now, even before ever kissing her lips is this; no matter the circumstances, our union will be a sober one. I want her to be everything that I’ve always looked for in foreign chemicals and fiery liquids. I want her arms to tremble at my touch and for mine to do the same of hers. All those vivid colors I’ve seen throughout my numberless dreams and darkened clubs—, I want to see again deep within her own two eyes. All those feelings of flying high above the atmosphere outside, I want to experience with her as we hold one another and kiss each other awake in the mornings. A new favorite type of drug—, one where there’s no chance of overdosing. A new favorite type of rush, the real reason for a pounding heart within my chest and dilated pupils within my head. My new favorite movie, my new favorite song, and our relationship—, my new favorite story.
I once sent my mother a picture I’d found of a woman who had long, blonde locks looking downward and wearing a horizontally striped U-neck shirt. She was at the head of a small boat out in the middle of wide open water. My nautical muse.
“This is who I will one day marry—,” I wrote out with the message. Not that specific model chosen for whatever ad it was, but someone who had a very similar vibe. Adventurous, attractive, an allure I wouldn’t be able to escape. From that point on, it became our inside-reference. The other, the soulmate.
“You still haven’t found your girl on the boat yet,” my mom says every so often. I think about it for a split-second and then;
“I know.”
I can only imagine what the next chapter of my life holds. What I know for certain is that I’m one step closer to finding her—, one day nearer our first meeting, our first dance, or in- depth conversation. She will wash away all of the stains from everything that’s happened before her. She will renew my faith in so many things which I’ve thrown to the side in recent years. Another half. A better half.
She is in my past—, as I’ve felt her for ages. She is in my present—, as I dream about her nightly. She is in my future—, as we’ll soon have the chance to finally hold each other’s hand. She is infinite in relation to my life’s timeline. I’m already trying to find her name in my star-filled night sky. The moon isn’t far off and soon, the sun will shine its glorious rays of light in her direction—, illuminating every corner and crevasse there is. We will meet. We will merge. She will smile and with that—, close every loop that’s ever been opened.
