The Star-Crossed Lovers: “But we were star-crossed lovers, you and I. Heroism is applicable. You’d hide your tears into the infinite black, and I’d use my mornings pressing carefully wrapped clothes containing hard-boiled eggs to pacify my swollen eyes.”
The Star-Crossed Lovers
We were meant to be; you and I. Pushed from the warm moist womb one early morning, I filled my lungs with oxygen and released a piercing cry; the commencement reflecting what would follow throughout my breaths. You; born into the night; hushed but glorious; the aftermath of the love affair between a vagabond and a social royalty.
We grew up, you and I; two melancholic souls. Craved to flee from what we were bound in; our breaths. Intermingled; we’d have soared. With one look at your eyes, I’d have known, you’d have used your magic and transformed my tears into pearls. And I’d have kissed yours dry. But we were star-crossed lovers, you and I. Heroism is applicable. You’d hide your tears into the infinite black, and I’d use my mornings pressing carefully wrapped clothes containing hard-boiled eggs to pacify my swollen eyes. Being loved as an obligation; realizations would dawn, would be worse than hatred. So I’d crave real love. And you’d crave carelessly. We’d crave and we’d never.
As the first wrinkle would branch, crow feet under my eyes, I’d reflect on fate. I’d feel all the essence of the men that had been but could never be. Blurry visions, reeking of 9 a.m. shots with the heavy eyelids and the infinite blackouts that’d follow, I’d cry for love in insanity. You’d live under illusions, consolations that you loved, despite the bitter truths that revealed. And we’d pass one another one day in the busy streets. My right eye would ornate the hues of black and blue; the few seen results of the battles I’d fight behind closed doors with one of my lovers of the night, and you’d be carrying a huge bouquet of red roses for your heart. You’d look at me and suddenly, the tarnished glow in your eyes would glimmer again. You’d know and I’d know. Our souls would sync.
But in an alternate universe, we’d have met in the monsoon; the polluted rain would beat down upon me to drench me to my skin, and I’d have walked into a chic cafe with my tattered novel and my antique attire. You’d glance at my book through your thick expensive glasses and comment on your love for Fitzgerald. And when you’d quote ‘The Great Gatsby’, I’d look at you with surprise and we’d know immediately. We’d finally belong. You’d offer me a cup of coffee and I’d agree without hesitation despite my distaste for caffeine. We’d never have ended up where we are now. You and I; two frustrated souls, seeking love from strangers who could never be.
But in reality, we’d meet too late, remorse would follow. You’d shrug away all the hidden, replace love with kindness for the beat-up woman in black. Too many battles fought would weigh us down, to give into foreseen serendipity. Because we had survived and we would yet again, you and I; two souls beautified in love. Tiredness would prevent further combats against the world, you’d know and I’d know, we’d won against everything. We’d achieve salvation, colored with our last sacrifice. We had survived with too much pain for too long, to give into love and familiarity. I’d offer a knowing smile and you’d too. We’d walk away; never once glancing back. I; to my friend for financial support and you; to your happy model family.
We’d finally disappear into the twilight. The star-crossed lovers could never be as long as their lungs would continue to heave for oxygen. Life would always be transitory to waste our breaths for the inevitable. In an alternate universe, we unite. As we’d walk away, with each additional stress I’d force upon my lungs, we’d finally burn out with the last flicker of my warm cigarette dust.