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  • I.She was beautiful.

    Over 400 days have passed since I saw the dead child and she was just sitting there in my car.

    I had given up on trying to get to know her better, to be a part of her life. I had moved on. Clinging on to such feeble hope had lost its significance and I was happy with my life.

    But there she was. Black and light brown curly hair and hazel, greenish gold eyes. It was her. She was beautiful.

    As usual, I didn’t know how to compliment her on her beauty. Countless hours spent with words didn’t provide me with sufficiently powerful ones. My long-sought desire to express the inexpressible reached at that moment its highest peak, leaving me forced to calm myself down. “I could find a way later” I told myself. “For now, just be.”

    And I was. We smiled and laughed and talked and whispered and laughed some more. We told stories. We talked about our past. We talked about the parts that mattered and those that did not. I was getting to know her. That intense presence one feels when happy was my own. I was myself. I felt like myself. I felt infinite.

    And then it happened. I never expected to talk about him. I had never talked about him to anyone before. It just came out. I started talking about the dead child, that nameless taboo. It had come to a point where I had convinced myself that it never happened, that he never happened. Even while he was happening, he didn’t happen. I had denied it all and negated the very possibility of his existence. And Death, that ultimate egalitarian destroyer, showed itself all too often with an all too familiar face to punish me for my choice.

    They all came back to me. The colors, the smells, the emotions, the darkness. But I did not feel overwhelmed. I did not feel sad nor devastated. Death couldn’t touch me anymore. I was with life here. She was life. She wasn’t my life, but she was life nonetheless. I knew that life was too cruel to allow this instant to be permanent. But I was happy with her and I savored it. She seemed happy too. At that moment, I deeply desired her happiness. At that moment, I asked the universe to stop and wait because I needed some time to create a dream.

    Thousands of kilometers had to be crossed for me to hope once again. For whatever unjust reason, separation was key for that annoying layer of uncertain joy to stop peeling off. But now I could once again be whole, once again feel as one and maybe, just maybe, lose myself in her hazel greenish gold eyes.

    This ‘maybe’ was my daily scream, my undying desire under the stars. They had offered themselves as receptacles; they were accepting, nonjudgmental and had some time to spare to just shut up and listen. But the stars weren’t here anymore. They were now silenced by the city’s lights and I had lost my only companion.

    That moment. That moment with her robbed me of the need to isolate myself. It stole the very mechanism once used for the pursuit of happiness and replaced it with something simpler, truer. No longer did I need to become Sal Paradise or Supertramp or Charlie or that lonesome man near Walden pond. That realization was already growing stronger and stronger with every day’s passing regardless of whether I was with the Vezos or the Incas’ children and was now complete. Gone was the rigidity separating reality and desire and gone was the need to settle for less.

    It took that wayfaring stranger Sal a life on the road to understand that the Other was what mattered most and that the mad ones are the true ones.
    It took Supertramp a one-way trip to Alaska to realize that happiness is only real when shared and that the Man within will never be complete until the circle of love was closed.
    It took Charlie the amazing and beautiful Sam to make him crawl out of his shell and preserve the memory of his own happiness all the while caring about the happiness of others.
    It took the lonesome man near Walden pond near-complete isolation to grasp the vastness of the universe and appreciate the terror that came with silence.
    And it took me a pair of hazel greenish gold eyes to eat, drink and breathe all that is pure, true and beautiful and reject all that is not.

    II. For years, the quiet desperation that I felt when surrounded by my likes and dislikes was caused by the inability to communicate. When it lost its quietness, it lost its reason for existence.

    This is how that night felt.

    Imagine the most beautiful song you’ve ever heard and imagine the drink you were drinking when you heard it and the friends you were with and the smells that surrounded you. Imagine that green haven where all that existed among the trees and birds and winds of change was Spartan simplicity. Imagine a cocktail of alcohol and happiness being brought to you by the happiest woman on Earth and imagine her smiling at you and your friends for being you. Imagine your jaws hurting for smiling too much and imagine your soul alleviated from all existence-related problems from your life for a speck of eternal moments. Imagine all of that never ending. Imagine if the only songs and paintings and lovers and movies and books that existed were those that destroyed you and gave you life over and over again until the only thing that remains is a bunch of fellow beautiful mad men and women who couldn’t accept anything less from Life than the best, craziest and most exhilarating thing She had to offer.

    That was how I felt that night.
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