go back to my home or my writing
from a diary entry.
we stare across the horizon together. the shimmering stars, the peaceful night sky, the cool air. the flowers were so beautiful that day. we were reminiscing about our lives, talking about what brought us here in the first place, how we met up, and how we all ended up this way. as time went on, we...
...i forgot the details of what we talked about. actually, that's not right. it's more like...ugh, it hurts so damn much. i loved every moment of it i really did but i feel like i'm failing to recall you if i try to recount what we did. every moment of it, every second, every touch, every laugh. i can't help but feel like whenever i try to recreate that moment through something, i end up failing. whenever people ask me who you are or who my partner is, i tell them the basic things: that your name is rina, that you're quite funny and sweet, and that there's this funny thing about you when you start being idle. i mean, i'm not even wrong and it doesn't feel like i'm lying by omission but...something just feels off. something feels missing when i describe you that way. i feel like i could go on and on, but i think they'd end up thinking that i'm a weirdo...or worse. it's just that...the spark i know you for is something i can't help but feel enamored by, but i can't describe it ever.
the summer morning, we were in a train ride together. you were resting on my arm while we were going to a nearby convention center. the landscape flickers: buildings, plains, forests, a tunnel, and a lake. 30 minutes left, but the longing was so bad i could feel the very fabric of time slow down. the softness of your hair begs for me to stare at you while you sleep. soon, time stops as all i could think about was you...in this very moment. every day we had together, every laugh, every hangout, every event we went to, every...
...it all feels terrible doesn't it? to be yearning this horribly, to try to journal how horrible this yearning gets, to be trying to make art out of it somehow. every moment i'm without you feels worse by the second, even when i try to make the art i love. being unable to hear you, be by your side every day, every moment, feels like another ache that i cannot bear. to desire so badly is a vulnerability i never thought possible. is this what it feels like? to love to earnestly? these brushstrokes, these words, these pictures, these videos, these songs i sing about you, they're never enough. being with you is enough, but anything else that tries to depict you...it's never enough. it's not enough to capture you, but i do it anyway because the only other option is dying.
at some point, i showed you a short story i made within a couple of days. it was definitely rough and i was scared to show it to anyone, even though i generally do feel fine with what i put out. it's just that i'm just so used to being hurt by the people around me all day for any small amount of vulnerability. however, you seemed glad when i showed it. "i didn't know you made stories, i thought you only drew," you exclaimed as you decided to go through it and talk about it with me. it...it truly was the first time i felt happy about the art i made. the second after this exchange, this event, everything felt brighter. the sun, the flowers, the rivers, the buildings, the ruins...never in my life has it ever felt like this...
...your voice still runs by my head each day. it continues to do so at this very moment, at the time when i try to make the art again. i don't know what it is about it, but it hurts to think about it. not in the way that it hurts when people make fun of my art, of course, but in a similar way that thinking about making art or even making it does. the yearning and the desire to make art metastasize in me, corroding the very threads that weave me in each and every moment i don't make it. for each moment i don't get to be with you, even though i know that you are still there. but...every moment you aren't there, it feels like you're so far away from me. the sound of the clock is gnawing at me, the writing in the wall screams at me to make art or to meet up with you again. the noise is so overwhelming, the task is so unbearable...but i must continue.
the rain's noises are palpable as i continue to draw this eternally incomplete picture of you. as i take a moment to look at the dimming sky, everything i see feels like it reminds me of you. this horizon you love so dearly, that we stare at together nearly every few days or so. i want to cherish every moment of it, no matter what.
"it's just so peaceful..."
i hear you faintly say that in this garden whilst we once again gaze at the night sky. it feels like the ground beneath us was changing to be brighter, dreamier, and more surreal. each blade of grass can be felt, each motion we do feels more colorful, each flower's more vivid. as you pluck one flower off the field in order to show me each and every dimension of it, i feel myself slipping into a new world—one that i've never experienced before. soon, i lay on your lap, still trying to mentally wander around this new dreamscape we created together. i see the very view of my world shift to the new world. a slow process of seeing the flowers turn more alive, the sky becoming a colorful horizon, the very garden changing from our very presence into one which reflects our very souls. you didn't notice it, of course. however, if only i got to tell you about the magnificent change that happened at that moment—a change that reflects the serenity of this very moment, a change that will soon bloom into a new era—until...
at that moment, i realized that i no longer have to fight the art again. for the first time in my life, i truly felt alive.
-leah
june 18th, 2023.