Tender fingers wrap around my thumb, tugging away at the frayed hopes of more love. I’m still around but not strong. I try to pry away those fingers so gently, they pull me back more. It’s not that I have no ears but I don’t want to listen to the cries of pain. Who should even bother about the poor little piece of flesh that calls out? He calls out in pain, for wants of a saving, in hopes of a hug. I turn away and walk on. I know I should be hitting road blocks, but it’s a safe road. Do I want this safe road? Yes. I will settle down into the walk, well. I will eventually end up dying a safe death too. The one where I will definitively regret not having done enough, the one where I’ll have the people who have served me well and who I’ve served well too, by my bedside, crying their tears of agony at my departure. I will not have someone who would be elated by my death because it’s only my next great adventure. To see on the other side of The Veil. To jump into a free fall. Oh where is he? The one who’s meeting or rather the lack of it, I’m certainly going to regret? He sees me turning away, the smile of dazed days slowly inching to form a frown and eventually the sad, pursed expression of rejection. What will he do? He’s as helpless as any other infant. Wanting his sweet nothing’s poured into his ears each night, wanting to be held throughout, fed, clothed. He’s an adult. The love of my own life. Like every new beginning commencing on the book of life, he’s all but the first sentence of my chapters. They start and end with his name. The sprinkling of his existence mentioned as a legend somewhere on a chapter. Yet, I do not look at him staring at me, trying to smile, waving wildly to catch my ever-distracted attention. Hopefully he will look away, I believe. Hopefully he will stop trying and eventually let me stick on to my own rotten thoughts of a nightmarish perfect day in heaven. The kind of heaven I have always wanted never needed. He, the stuff fairy tales are made of; me, the stuff bad dreams are made of. In my own bubble that I never want to share. The place where I can sit and cry and complain about things. The bubble where dreams play out in an unending loop of frayed endings and patchy beginnings. The codes of access to the bubble entrenched in his brain but I manage to secure it well. He tries and fails and fails again. Still smiling, the boy. Still trying. Still trying to catch my attention. Who the fuck even cares? I’m going to sit here, get myself a cup of hot cocoa and stare outside. He can be as alone as he wants. This is how my thoughts play out in a dimension. Who the fuck even cares. Simple joys of life. I don’t have to care.
My heart is deactivated. Abandoned as the low end 32-bit software that has no use in this world. Or now my heart is as vestigial as internet explorer. I laugh at how naive it gets. That boy is still outside looking for a way in and my heart feels sad. Makes me laugh. Stupid piece of tissue, you know nothing. I gesture at him to move away, he shakes his head in a no. I ask him to leave me alone again, still shaking up a no. Well, okay then. I let him stay right there. I cozy up in my bed inside my bubble, leaving him out with no food or water. He never budged. I wake up and I get interested in him trying to pry his way inside. It’s an amusing scene playing out right in front of me. He takes days and weeks, piquing my interest ever so slightly each time he fails. Sadistic pleasures, the way fun was meant to be. I see a small crack forming somewhere in the bubble. It’s not a big deal, he won’t be able to make it in. So I enjoy my days playing out without the use of my heart. Slowly the crack starts becoming larger, like the scene from Jurassic Park-Lost World. Just the way Julianne Moore saw the windshield glass of the trailer crack, I saw it too. My bubble was weaker now. I slowly try to assuage the situation but to no avail. He starts entering my space now. I get scared, throw tantrums, abuses, everything I could, to make him go away. I expect a chill, temperatures plummeting below the 0 degree mark. I want to sense iciness between us. Instead it’s like the warmest ray of sunshine the day winter breaks. So weird. Who is this person who’s actually making me feel vulnerable? I only had gone so far without any feel of my heart. And now this extremely uncomfortable position I was in, was making me want to slap this man. He giggles at me, tries to come closer and like the cat I felt I was, I scratch and hiss at him. He breaks into the deep laughter that’s the trademark he was born with. Rang out like the chants in a monastery. So fucking beautiful. A single ray of sunshine falls over on his lashes, and the balance of the universe hangs ever so precariously at the edge of his lashes. I see the solar system in the swirling specks of dust around the ray of light. Oh god, I’m breaking us out of my bubble. It’s not good. I walk timidly towards him, always expecting a push back. He holds out his hand, telling me it’s okay, that I’m okay and that everything before and after me will always be okay. Seems alright, holding his hand. He slowly grips my fingers harder, entwining his fingers around mine and I look up at him. Still the one ray of light playing around his face. Is this still real? As I say, who the fuck cares.
With a swiping motion of his hands, with the magic he holds within him, he builds a new bubble. “This is our bubble now, sleep tight in here.” And all was well again.


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