Rebellious Love

It was a sunny and tranquil Monday.
The excruciatingly blue and limitless sky is becoming a home for the numerous moving clouds,
the distant yellow sun is taking a little vacation,
the city's alleyways are being traversed by a brisk, crisp wind that is contacting everything and everyone it comes into contact with,
it is banging on windows,
swaying the lush green trees to its own rhythm,
And pushing people through as they march steadily towards their intricate routines.
I take a small sip of my bitter, early-morning coffee,
as I, just like the others, proceed to go through my remarkable day.
It is the seventeenth day of this drab and tiresome month.
When one is by himself, they begin to understand things in a different way,
looking towards the distance for longer than you're supposed to.
taking pleasure in the sun's steady warmth,
observing the many little details throughout the day,
holding on to anything little and joyful,
clinging into whatever hope there may be,
climbing trees to gain a new perspective on this ghastly world,
doing the same thing over and over expecting different results.
living each day as the day before it,
trapped into the eternal and secret prison they call routine,
Until we let ourselves go.
The coffee has gone cold,
it is almost 9:00 am and I am running late for my disagreeable but important work.
I discard the plastic cup,
and steadily walk,
to fight through 5:00 pm for yet another day.

These days, I have inconsistent memory,
hazy mental images,
trouble recalling specific details,
and a constant sense of disbelief,
I have no idea what actually occurred and what did not.
However, a few tiny fragments are still present.
I remember when I first bumped into you,
I was struck by the gleam in your eyes,
experienced a sensation that I have never known before,
I understood that 'overwhelming' had a much deeper meaning.
your unrivalled beauty enthralled me.
it was one of those rare occasions when you are unsure of whether something is true or not.
Everything happened too quickly,
you flooded my heart like the colors flood the sky with a multitude of shades,
tones and hues,
in perfect harmony,
your sublime beauty enraptures my soul.
After just one look, I had fallen deeply in love,
everything changed with only a glance.
I felt vibrant.
No one else in this entire world, in my opinion, is capable of making me feel even close to how you do.
Not your normal love story, this one.
And the beauty of beginnings had no influence on me.
I recently heard someone say that occasionally you can tell right away if someone is the one you want to spend the rest of your life with.
I never believed in that.
I believed that the magic of beginnings can sometimes mask the absolute value of something.
But I gave up on all my beliefs once I met you.
I had enough courage to trust love one more time for you,
perhaps things would go in a less circuitous route.
The world may think I am foolish,
they can't see you like I can.
You have been mistreated in this cruel world,
and they have failed to recognise your amazing worth.
You overcame your demons,
you used your scars as a wing,
defeated those who opposed you and grinned at those who attempted to undermine you.
Despite everything you've been through,
you're standing right in front of me now,
tossing your long, curly hair over your shoulder,
confidently approaching the barista while ordering a dangerously potent espresso,
I didn't realise that the entire time I was staring at you in awe,
wondering how someone could go beyond the bounds of perfection.

Life happens at you quickly.
I became ill.
According to the physicians, it is a rare variety of cancer that is terminal.
Once you hear that horrible word, everything in your life is changed
because from that point on, every single second counts.
When I initially received the bad news, I was horrified.
It hit me quickly the first time, and then it continued to hit me every day after that,
rubbing salt into the wounds it had already caused,
wandering around my helpless organs,
leaving me vulnerable,
bed-bound,
and incredibly weak.
All of your past errors,
the things you regret,
and your underachievement over the arduous and adventurous ride you had in life eventually lose their importance.
Nothing else counts once you are on death row, yet as far as I can recall, I had a respectable life.
Everyone I know eventually disappears.
The most basic truth of existence is that death is inevitable.
Desperation forces you to think in an alternate way,
clouding your naive mind and injecting it with overwrought imagination,
tricking you into thinking that you could have rectified every little error you've made.
And this happens as I start to accept my cruel fate,
now on what is presumably my death bed,
holding a hand that I've held for thirty-odd years.
The prestigious monitors to which I'm linked begin to incessantly beep,
singing out of time,
illuminating the ceiling with vivid hues,
causing a commotion in my dreary room as others rush inside.
They did everything they could to save me and keep me on this lifeless planet,
but I let them down.
I got too far away and no one could save me.
My life is being replayed as I slowly close my eyes for the final time.
I am dying away while holding a delicate hand and wearing a slight grin.
I can only see complete blackness as my wretched spirit begins to go from this broken body.
However,
I was certain of one thing:
the hand I was grasping wasn't yours,
and she wasn't you.
I wonder if I could start over,
I'm not sure if I would keep myself,
but I would find a way to keep you.