By Aastha Nagi
Amelie
I met a girl once
She sorta ripped me open
She dosent even know it.
Were you all in a dream amelie
I met a girl once, and she was the persona of an angel, but in a way that she was only an angel for me, she was my angel. She was born to be all the things she was and my angel. She doesnt know it, she knows none of it. And i probably will never tell her. But her mere existence was bliss and solace to my battered body. She was holy, she was sacred and she was humane. She found me on the day i almost died 2 years ago. She probably does not think of herself as much as i think of her. And in the dreams i dont tell anyone she is there. Far yet close enough that i know she is there. I dont know what i would give to be held by her. And i am going to give everything till i get to hold her. and she smiles at me, no one has ever looked at me with good eyes and smiled before. And when she smiles at me, i know everything will be okay, and if it will not she will still exist in this world and that i know of her existence and that was all i needed now. And i get to miss her, all the time, i get to long for her, which makes it okay because that means she is real and that i will get to see her again. And i have forgotten her face and her voice and her scent again, something in god never lets me have those memories, but i remember thinking that it was familiar. All of it. Especially her scent and her voice and her face, i have heard it before and i have known that scent since i was a child. My soul recognizes hers. And i have forgotten her voice and her face and her scent which means heavens above dont think it is the time to have it engraved it in my mind yet, which means a time will come where i will know her voice and scent like breathing, which means she is real and i will get to see her again. And there she was, someone worth writing about, someone worth living for, someone worth going insane for. And i wanted her just as much as i wanted to sit and cry to god thanking him for her existence. And i wanted her but i did want to be the prey to greeds mouth and her being alive truly was more than enough but i wanted her. I wanted to be next to her. I wanted her to tell me once, to not dream about my big city dreams anymore and i would stop and stay with her. And i wanted her to tell me to not go and i would simply forget that i ever was going to go. And i wanted her to talk to me while i looked at her with stars in my eyes. And i wanted her to speak, even if it was in a language i did not know, even if it was in a language that did not exist, i would still stare at her with stars in my eyes like she was the moon. I wanted her to cry to me about her obsessions and i would let her ruin all my days. And i wanted to hold her hand. Even if you told me she would drop it, even though i kind of knew she, she. Would never drop it if she held it once. If she did i would not let her. And i wanted to wrap my arms around her i wanted to hug her because i wanted her to wrap her arms around me i wanted her to hug me, hold me, because she would hold me without hurting me and she would be the first who ever did. And i wanted to be close to her, i wanted to be someone she thought of, and i wanted her close to me, even if she wanted to be quiet, i would be quiet with her and if she wanted me to i would do the talking for her, i would have done anything for her, anything she had asked me or not asked me to, i would have become anything for her, i was fading into air, becoming mist around her, i could no longer recognize my battered body. I wanted her. Even if she could not be close to me or know me or know of my existence i wanted her. I wanted her to be. I wanted her to exist. I wanted her. And i had always known that the moon was beautiful, because poets had always said so and i had a habit of believing them even when i did not understand them. But i think moon walked with its bare feet to me that night and i think it came to greet me and to show me, how it always had been there. Hanging in the sky and beautiful. She was the moon wasnt she. Because i looked at her and i knew the poets were talking about her when they said she was beautiful like the moon. Because she was. And i burn in the sun, the source of ultimate light, and i do not step out in the day, the sun burns me and i am reborn in the night, nights are the closest thing to home even though i have never been to one, nights are the closest thing to her, moonlight comes to greet me and i shimmer like a star while dancing underneath it. I bloomed in moonlight. And she was beautiful like the moon. Like the moon light, like the night. She was beautiful like the sun too, she was beautiful like everything to be honest, like autumn days like the autumn sunlight like the autumn rain, like everything. She was just very beautiful.
And her simplicity fascinates me. She could be nothing and i would still love her. I could be blind and i would still love her. There is nothing about her that she would think is special except to me its everything. Theres something about her that i cant quite put my finger on, but its there, and it makes me think we came from the same star, that in the imagery of i sitting on the crescent moon with my legs hanging in space, she is sitting next to me. It makes me think i know her. It makes me think i need to. It makes me want to love her like it is breathing, it makes me want to show her how loved she can truly be, it makes me want to show her the reflection in the mirror that she sometimes hates is my greatest painting, i could talk and write about it even after my fingers start to bleed. It makes me want to tell her she is my greatest most favourite muse because she is. It makes me want her. It makes me not want to cut her off completely like a tag on my clothes like i do to all the others. It makes me want to hold onto her for the rest of my life. The feeling of looking at her, the feeling of knowing she exists, the feeling of knowing she knows i exist, the feeling of listening to songs that remind me of her, wearing the perfume i wore when i met her, the feeling of her air. Of her is something worth holding onto. For the first time. Its like walking through life with holding something in these cut out palms, holding something that is so soft and delticate and yet so durable that it will last, i will not forget her, i will never forget her.
I may end up forgetting her face and her voice and her scent but it will be for the best because that will mean that is existed and it was good while it existed and it will make me miss it and that will remind me it is real that she is real and all that magic truly did happen. Even though i will try my hardest to love her to the point she becomes a part of me, a part of me that i will not forget even if i forget myself, i will love her like it is breathing and you only forget breathing when you die. I will love her with my soul so even when my body dies and my mind stops running, i will still love her. I will record her voice, i will take photos of her when she is not looking, i will buy the perfume that smells like her, i will put my marks on the places i saw her in, i will do whatever i have to, to have her engraved and carved onto my bare skin and soul, i can not forget her, i do not want to.
By Aastha Nagi
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