An Inexplicable Moment

My reconnaissance of him lasted for days. At first it was the impression he left that made me notice him: the way his eyes – deep puddles filled with an almost indescribable intrigue – burned into the blue-grey recesses to my soul. Then I began to notice who he was beneath the exterior beauty: his genuine interest in the people he interacted with, the way his smile affected his entire face.

And all the while I considered whether he was out of my league. Ultimately, I drew the conclusion that it didn’t matter whether I considered myself worthy of him or not. What mattered was whether he was an opportunist and whether he would afford me the fortuity to demonstrate that – worthy or not – time spent with me would always be an adventure and never wasted.

I couldn’t wait forever. I knew from experience that procrastination lead only to failure in my ability to achieve desired outcomes. And so, with my heart in my throat and my legs overwhelmed with the task of having to move, I pushed myself forth, knowing rationally that my physical state was somewhat of a placebo and hoping with every fibre of my being that I was intelligent enough to maintain rational thoughts, if only for this moment.

I believe, at the exact point in time I came face-to-face with him, my heart ceased to function. I’m unsure, however, as to whether the cause was my potentially irrational fear or his breathtaking presence. The only certain thing in my disorderly mind was that, in proximity, he was even more flawless; pure; precisely accurate, and I was eternally doomed with no chance of ever being rescued.

His voice was comparable to effervescent waterfalls in summer; warm crackling fires in winter; to crimsoned, crunchy maple leaves in autumn, and perfectly endless spring days spent on the golden sands of pure Australian beaches. He uttered but a single syllable, yet in that word he seemed to speak so many truths.

And, unanticipatedly, it was as if I loved him, but in a language only I could understand, without knowing how or when or from where, completely unapologetically despite our time together spanning only a brief moment. And it was as if I existed solely to ignite that moment; he to respond by fanning its flames with that magnificent smile; a smile that – like he – unintentionally inspired me to not just exist but to live fully, and to do so adventurously so that death would surely shudder to consume me.

Quickly and unexpectedly, I was overwhelmed with hope; my mind rapidly embracing one possibility after another, as if it could think of nothing less than everything all at once. Conquered by this cerebral massacre, my thoughts – powerless against the brute force of my heart – oozed into ardour and I couldn’t control of the waves of emotion crashing onto my metaphorical shores. I felt as if yesterday was too late, and tomorrow was too far away; that today had dawned solely for me and simply for the romantic purpose of reuniting two condemned beings. And I was almighty; enriched with potentiality; utterly liberated. So, I acted in response to the single word that had so conclusively and graphically deciphered me.

But the cacophony that escaped my mouth did not translate the narrative my mind was pitching with any accuracy or comparable degree of revelation. My complete lack of grace and effectiveness, I feared, would be the unravelling of the preceding successes of this now wavering courtship. Like red and yellow banners of lifeguards flapping wildly in my mind, my awareness of the sudden fluidity of the moment screamed out, warning me to keep between the flags or risk certain drowning.

Then, without hesitation, he did what very few could accomplish anymore: he surprised me. Not with words that – while effective and illuminating when pouring out of this individual – were, more often than not, manipulated and tortured by so many, but with a behavioural symphony. The amused yet tender beam that ignited his face; the slow passionate embrace of my tiny hand in his; the conscious and precise movement of his body slowly and seductively inching toward mine and, eventually – as if time ceased to exist in what was traditionally viewed as an instant, and space seemed to confine two human forms to a single breath – the press of his tantalisingly soft lips, initially subtle then increasingly consuming, against mine.

Instantaneously, I was devoured by a supreme desire for inertia; a basic human requirement to exist only in that moment forever. And, at the same time, I was inspired to explore and absorb the intricacies of the world in its entirety. The conflict tore at my core, catapulting me from one precipice to another, seemingly depleting the cells within my brain and temporarily starving them of oxygen. As if his kiss was hallucinogenic, I found myself subconsciously imagining our future together. I pictured us walking, hand-in-hand, along the esplanade, enamoured by each other, but all the while allowing myself to be supremely occupied by everything surrounding our slow saunter: the elements, the people, surrounding buildings, passing vehicles, the suddenly lovely sight of my own feet springing in front of me as we strolled. I was like a newborn baby seeing and feeling things for the first time: smelling the scent of freshly cut flowers, hearing the sound of salt water splashing against the sand, embracing the security of another’s touch. I imagined the feeling to be a kind of sanctity I had never before experienced; a euphoria I had come to realise I longed for.

When the air trapped between our pressed and pulsating chests was finally afforded the ability to expand, I momentarily felt as if everything that combined to create me had been drained out; transferred from a once energetic, yet flawed, being into another, more worthy, vehicle. I was depleted; debilitated by lust. And, as instantly as the preceding thought occurred to me, I was resuscitated. Life crashed back through the walls of my chest; smashed into my veins at an incogitable speed, and I was vigorous again.

But then, discombobulated, I felt an urgency to increase the space between our bodies, and as I did, my head bowed with the realisation of my unrestricted disappointment. Pain surged through every organ in my body, and I could feel with absolute certitude the confusion and concern distorting his exquisite face. Then I looked up at him, his uncharacteristically and exceptionally dark – seemingly bottomless – irises burning into every micrometre of the depth behind my eyes. And I was utterly aware of the sensation he was experiencing; absorbingly conscious that it was because of me he was consumed, undeniably, by the unyielding clutches of never-wavering anguish. But suddenly manifesting within me was the realisation of something that was troublingly disagreeable with me.

My quandary wasn’t his caress or the passion that had exploded between us during our exploration of each other, nor was it his embrace or the warmth and security of it. My dilemma circulated around the hasty and acute awareness that he had become both my beginning and my end; my life in its entirety. He was every memory my mind housed and the only future I was capable of imagining. He was the story I wanted to write, the life I longed to conceive; he was all I cared to know intimately, and I couldn’t comprehend or entertain thoughts of anything else. I was preoccupied with him intrusively, and to a troubling extent. Without warning, I had allowed myself to get lost in him. I had unintentionally forfeited everything I wanted for my life and unashamedly replaced it with everything I wanted to do for him. I was profoundly defined solely by another, rather than discovering my identity and reason for existing and allowing myself to be defined by the life I had created for me. And I felt tragic with affliction.

Then, all the things surrounding us seemed to freeze, and I together with them. Stunned and silenced by this awakening – wretchedly unwelcome and entirely essential to my wellbeing at the same time – I felt as if I was both transfixed and transported, hovering effortlessly above myself, gazing down upon the scene I was, a heartbeat ago, comprehensively encumbered by. And my thoughts swiftly felt free, my body weightless, my heart unburdened, and I knew what I had to do.

Conflicted by what was crucial and what I desired, I smiled reassuringly at him. Nearing my body decidedly to his again, my hands found his athletic chest – expanding and contracting turbulently – and my eyes searched his, somewhat erratically, begging him for understanding, all the while fearing that he couldn’t possibly comprehend my line of thought. I could feel the struggle inside of him; his need to say something – anything – to hold onto the moment, and his inability to conjure a sentence as a result of his lack of cognisance simultaneously. So, rather than prolonging the moment – which had sparked such zeal, promised so much hope, resulted in stark realisation and ripped away layers of emotional armour – I retracted myself from his presence, gently turned and began to retreat, my heart begrudging me; my conviction impaired.

All my years of education, my articulate intelligence, logic and strength roared collectively inside my head, imploring me not to look back. Yet, the largest organ beneath my skin –aggressively beating against my chest – and my bothersome empathy caused me to seek his comprehension. So, I halted my retreat; paused suspensefully – though not deliberately – and turned my head back in his direction. His strapping body was still, yet leaned comfortably, effortlessly against the nearby bench.

With a seductive kind of cheek that dared to bring me to my knees, he held his arms crossed in front of his chest, suggestively complimenting the smirk that lay crookedly across his mouth. It was a sight that taunted me; that provoked me to walk away, encouraged me to because somehow, unbeknownst to me, he would ensure he would have me again. While he would allow me this round, he assured me our next encounter would result in his favour.

And while I ostensibly knew deep down that the notion was idealistic and beyond the bounds of probability, the hope that reluctantly hovered as a result of his brandishing confidence strangely ensured the simplification of the act that imperatively – for me at least – followed.

I turned from him for a second and final time, conscripting disunity and setting asunder truly unforgettable pieces of a metamorphic moment. Between us lingered an aura of satisfaction in reminiscence of the ultimate expenditure of an inexplicable moment in time, but also the inarguable knowledge that culminating our chronicle here was the only measure of guaranteeing that our ending would – as in all distinguished fairy tales – always be happy.