Landslide

Of all the memories I hold of you, I have written of all except the most vivid. Maybe I am afraid of sharing that deeply as a writer, as a man, as a person. Perhaps I fear I cannot hold my breath long enough to survive the submergence without tears freeing drops of salty liquid from my lungs. Just enough to keep me conscious and myself during the descent to the most beautiful and guarded memory I have to date. I still recall the day my eyes learned to properly interpret the beauty of a portrait, because your face tapped my sense of sight. I still recall the way a simple touch could wake a body more than life itself, because you touched my shoulder to gain my attention, the one thing that was always yours. I still recall the chill of an owned heartbeat willingly belonging to someone who was once a stranger, Its skip when you smiled, its race when you teased, and the agony it felt when you were the slightest bit sad... Yes, I recall each of these experiences happening with successions of breaths. Three deep ones, and I was too attached to decide which of us I loved more. One more, and reality slipped away to become a single recurring thought: "Awake or asleep, alive or dead, wherever I am now, with her, is my day, my existence." Yeah, I remember every single second. Each one was a few moments of finding forever, and they each bear the imprint of my clenched hand... For me, that was the landslide. The time in my life when all structure and foundations of beliefs were destroyed by emotions unknown to me. Where the purity of powerful snow collided with the earth that once rested firmly beneath my feet. And all I once believed, as a boy, was too damaged by the laws of life to get back. I was a teenager afterwards, and my childhood innocence left the moment I chose to love with the urgency of a body, trapped beneath the rubble of what was, seeking oxygen to survive to what would be, could be, should have been. And that clueless boy with the nervous smile died that day. Life stole that innocence with promises of a lasting first love, only love, being offered at the end of a yoyo string. But now, as child became teenager, teenager is now damaged young man. Bitter, cold, and still clueless as to what is worth changing for, dying for. Still terrified of the next landslide to destroy the little that was salvaged from the first. Wishing like hell that he could be that little boy once more, but all the while knowing: No amount of digging will ever see him live again...