Afflatus, O Mine.

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Alright.
He wasn’t a mess. He wasn’t the boy from the books that I was going to save, from himself. He wasn’t your stereotypical enigma, whose detective was going to be I.
He was a normal one.
Although, I wasn’t. Not since the The Last Bad Experience With Love. With him, my normality was back. I didn’t even want to be something more than normal. He was all I needed.
However, it is two of the most quotidian existences that combine to be the brightest orb on this blue sphere.
We were magic, him and I. The calm after the storm, the eldorado of everyone’s yearning.
People looked at us and their awe was palpable. It reached me, through their longing gazes and made me hold on even tighter.
This fire between us, this fiery goodness burned that icy-cold Tundra in my self, my heart; melted me like sugar on tongue, every time my dark-brown irises leveled with his chocolate brown ones. His arms were like the warm sands of the Sahara, albeit cold whenever I left them; for his ‘starlight’ was I, as he often asserted.
But most of all, he made me catch that sly, old shadow of mine. He built me up, with every light caress of his fingers, like a Lego house.

Piece by piece by piece…

Touch by touch by touch…

Until one day, our first hug finally acted as the sealing concrete of my construction.
I was complete, wholly and with the renewed ability to love and to be loved.
And every night now, when I fall asleep under the stars, these words play over and over in my mind-

“Where art thou from

Afflatus, O mine?

For in this world,

A Sisyphean task it is,

To find a heart 

As gold as thine…”

-Kimaya Ingale.

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