We were never aligned, never going in the same direction in our heads and our footpaths, predestined to end in a silent bang of a gong to our hearts playing in tandem with the rhythm of drums in our heads.
Sometimes, in that extraordinary life we led I wished some moments locked us in and did their dirty deeds on us just so we couldn't leave whilst they recapitulated in front of our eyes. I wanted to catch those moments like caterpillars in a glass jar as we used to do when we were kids, feed them other memories, poke them with sticks and wait for them to turn into vivid butterflies, and all that carrying a bright smile on my lips with a familiar one echoed on yours.
Red gooey liquid and skin cells and gasps and parted lips with oozing blood everywhere. Names, shouted out in the distance. Brushes of worn skin against skin, the road of scars on your body so well known to my fingers, passing against my side in a mirrored lethal dance of our bodies.
Dead non-human bodies were piled on the floor and all I could see was you, you, you, and all and everything was you and about you, and youyouyou. Freckles and hair and the stretch of white skin, green, yellow and gold all over curled in black and leather and brown.
And when you stepped close and inhaled the air I exhaled out the planets that we were aligned themselves in line. The beam of our laughs and smiles took over us, wrote itself in the black boxes that were our souls, imprinted itself on our mortal bodies in emblems of the touches, like we were sculptures melded and made all over again. We were the arts and the artists, sculptured into what we were, so beautifully human.
And if we died in that moment, together, my mind was too drenched in you and us to notice that the book of our earthly lives has closed.