Equinox

Sometimes you can have a perfect day with someone your not supposed to be with. It’s as though the scales of fate skewed to disparity, yet you can’t help but hate yourself for loving every minute of it. While your minds off wondering what is supposed to be right in life, your existing in complete ease, breathing the breaths of unconscious contentment without a second thought. Your so utterly relaxed it’s as though you exercising the calm center of yourself, yet there’s another in the room sharing your oxygen, and crowding your space. Their living in the same time, gulping up the same air, and their heart is beating perfectly in rhythm with the one in your chest. They call these things symmetry; a state of being in absolute harmony.

Yet there’s a thought gnawing in the back of your head, making headway to announce itself out loud and mar the bliss you so achingly hold on to—reality. In worlds where colors are absolutes, and the DNA structure of ourselves is irrevocably unalterable, we can’t fight the immovable. We’re stuck trying to pan out calculus equations that reach infinite zeroes repeating, and we’re following those numerals off the lemming cliff to our doom. For in these moments where contentment becomes us; as we’re reaching euphoria in stolen moments of unbelieving, the sobering shower of reality is crashing over us. You fight it still, building the crescendo of this rapture, edging towards the climax, and you arrive at an emotional orgasm. You’re floored with feeling, gripping your surroundings in floundering amazement at the nerve responses jittering your senses like seventeen year old cicada songs. Every sinew is singing the melody of rapturous rightness until the lights come on and blackness fills you to the brim bursting.

The sun and moon can never be, forever doomed to gaze eternal on their celestial highs, crossing before one another in this woeful unrequited dance.