Over the weekend I spent 25hrs with someone I thought I would never see again. I don't know from which book of black magic we stole the spell that was cast - a spell that returned a dream reality had foresaked - but it was a strong sorcery; one that sent us sleepwalking hand in hand through those kidnapped hours. Our memories weren't remembered, but relived. We reveled in our time together, as time stood paralyzed, unable to stop us. With great buckets we plundered Heraclitus' river, and showered in waters we had fetched from upstream. Every embrace was enchanted, every breath was bliss. While we slept we dreamt of one another, and upon waking, our trepid hands peering out into the darkness, each reaching out for the other, we were reunited; greeted with whispers of love and happiness.
It felt so surreal. Something, that for the last 60 days I had sought, and thought about unrelentingly. I hadn't imagined it possible to attain, and had committed to commiserating; throwing the dream away like an empty pack of cigarettes, my hopes crushed up butts, my happiness turned to smoke.
In the first few minutes of our reunion, an uneasiness and distrust swirled all around us. We sat unable to suspend disbelief. As happy as I was, I couldn't help but cling to the suspicion I was about to wake up - that this was just some subterfuge perpetrated by my subconscious. Like Tantalus in Tartarus, expecting her to recede from me as I reached out to touch her, I stood still in the water, afraid to drink.
Soon the doubt, like fog, fled, and we were full fledged lovers again. We had offered a duplicitous offering and stolen ambrosia from Zeus' table, granting us 24 and 1/24 hours of freedom from retribution. We drank champagne and napped, and ate ice-cream, and laughed, and loved, and with the wind we walked familiar streets - and when we held hands we were ghosts - we haunted our favorite restaurant and drank all their wine.
After leaving the restaurant, the sidewalks seemed sparsely inhabited. The breeze seemed to blow slow and sideways. The sun, setting, colored the clouds a soft pink that looked like watercolor. The sky was paper wet and stained with tears - it began to pull apart and lose shape. We arrived at her door, her eyes glistened, green and grieved, but grateful. We parted, I left her reluctantly, as I had two months before, at that same door.
As I walked I turned back and saw only shadows. Above, the moon, like a pale marble, had rolled out from behind a cloud, and it seemed to sigh. The stars in the sky reminded me of the shimmer I had seen in her wet eyes before we said goodbye.
Now apprehended by the gods, we are punished for our deceit.
Separated like stone statues, still and staring, struggling in silence, unable to touch.
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