/lit/ - Literature

>>10802730
revised draft, a little better but still a work in progress:

You are Everywhere

Too often I think back to the time in which my journey intersected with yours, a million years ago when we both lived in that windy little town outside of Cortez. Too often I think about how it moved me, how every night, the desert was so clear and beautiful. Out in the middle of the plains I’d often find you standing under the heavens, staring off into infinity with those massive eyes of yours.
You were very much a creature of that place. To me, you were something of a spirit, this sort of enchantress who seemed to emerge from the red dust of that land, who every night would exhale the universe around me. You were something that I the stranger, this temporary and un-belonging thing from the cloudy east, felt drawn to.
If I could go back, I’d try to be brave. I’d do my best to toss my fears out into the open, to throw them into the dirt, to point, to laugh at them and hope to god you’d do the same. If nothing else in the world, I wanted to sit with you in the cool wet grass under the cosmic highway, for us to feel small in the grand scheme of things, but not apart. I remember right before I left, how you told me that you felt alone, and how your words had made my chest hurt.
I wanted to toss away all of the burdens with which I was forced to grapple, to free up my arms and place them around you. I wanted us to laugh about the awkwardness and distance we both seemed to feel from all other things, about the absurdity of our lives, about the absurdity of ourselves. With the heat of those far away suns, I wanted us to burn it all away.
I wish I had been brave enough to be vulnerable, to stay out there, to truly know who you were. In your own subtle way, you certainly tried your best to know me. I miss the tranquil desert sky where one can see the machinery of creation in all of its workings. I miss the clarity, the stillness, the voices of those massive silent things, and how it was you stood among them.