Love

The light changed from red to green and they bolted forward together, hand in hand, only looking back to remember the intersection of origin. Leaving the cars and lights behind they entered a world of nothingness full of colors and natural sculptures, fading gently around them. Dancing in the wind, the trees leaves fell on their foreheads with pleasant blessings.

They walked in circles, in ovals, in pentagons and lines, moving forwards and sideways and into each other. The trees watched. The rocks watched. The sun smiled down on the airy water, the watery air as it enveloped their everything. Almost suffocated, they looked to each other and found life in air and water, sunshine and moonlight.

One night when the sun went down, full moon rising around, surrounded by a ring which haloed their night. Lost in every nothing they stared with blank intensity into the night sky. Lying in the night questions were left unanswered, meaningless. Meanings became everything but nothing, and hanging from a tree she met she with eyes full of nothingness. “I love you, I think I love you” and their bodies met, upside-down entwined. “I know I love you” and they came together, knowing every nothing that never mattered.

Don’t let me lose you.

But I never can, I never will. The ring around the moon imprints itself, my memories of your upside-down love, your right-side up love, your love that is everything to my nothing.

The sky is endless but upside-down the ground is my sky. Grounded in a tree I see nothing but concrete and you and the ring around the moon is imprinted on your face, your eyes, my heart.

They left the night and walked on into nothingness, hand-in-hand, each inside the other.
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Nothing can last forever, and only nothing. You guide me into nothingness and it’s become my everything…my everything will last forever.

They opened their hearts with closed eyes, walking to the water side. Stopping where the rocks dive in they looked up, down, over the water. The writer looked on into the beauty and underneath it, filling the empty spaces, imagining the deep.

But the artist, the artist appreciated every curve, every color, every twinkle and filled the moment with self. The artist became the moment and was filled with it, without wanting. Then the writer looked into the artist, beneath her gorgeous exterior, and was filled with her, overcome with unwanting appreciation. The moment came with satisfaction, with inspiration, and exploded into sudden desire.

Filled with wine and beauty the lovers met, the artists intertwined, the moment melted into them and they became the moment.

Each covered in the other, they created and were tainted with each other. The writer said, “my words are made of you” while the artist stared back, knowingly, “Everything I do, you make better.”