Do I believe in miracles? No, but it seems the Universe has an oppositional view. Miracles not only exist, but they come in the form of you.
I wasn’t sure whether I was more afraid of your existence, or that the Universe had finally granted me my Miracle, or even worse, that I would not be able to keep you.
I asked you whether you knew that you were a Miracle, and you whispered as though the angels spoke through you:
‘You ask me how I can possibly exist. And I know that I exist only for you. My chest has cracked, when I believed it was made of Iron bars. It split itself open to make room for you. Don’t leave it open for too long, come in, and kiss my heart. No more doubts.”
And yet, the Big Question remains: are we newborn believers, or will Romantic Atheism prevail?
There are a few moments in life when you come face to face with a world that is beyond comprehension. I recall that certain day, the way it had begun for me. I was unsure of my place within the world, let alone within that room. It was a big room, bland in all aspects, not worthy of a description. But there you were, sitting in a corner, and my eyes found their way to yours. You looked away, or maybe it was I who betrayed your gaze. And I found myself thinking of what it would be like to stand close to you, to be able to see my reflection in your eyes. You looked back at me, and I was consumed by embarrassment, thinking you had heard my thoughts.
You were as graceful as an otherworldy creature and as light as air. The world marveled at you, and yet you could not see it. And I wanted to touch you, to slowly carve words onto your skin. Adjectives that could capture your ethereal light, words that you would carry within you, words that could remind you of the effect you have on me –even after I’m gone. I wanted you to remember the things you had forgotten about yourself, and I wanted to protect you from forgetting the way my eyes had devoured you on that certain day. I wanted you to recall every detail of your beauty, every angle of your smile, and the sound of your laughter. Everything you viewed as mundane about yourself was not worth forgetting. I couldn’t risk you forgetting. And so I began to write you, and you began to read, and we both started to believe.