If I Close My Eyes, Will You Still Be There?

If I pretended you did not exist, would you go away?

That is my philosophy towards any problems I have. Which, mind you, I have plenty, except I tend to ignore them and hope that they will stop bothering me because, obviously, I don't want to be bothered, can't you see?

Except right now my problems are intricately linked to the explosively amazing aspects of my life. I had finally climbed up the cliff and jumped off, and I'm free-falling, just as I always wanted to do. The exhilaration is in my veins, drowning out all other sounds.

But I am also falling. I can't deny that.

What do I do?

Should I open the parachute packet? I will get a soft landing, I will survive, but I will fail. I will land on the ground with a heart full of pain-dulled regrets. But if I don't, I might crash onto the ground, head-first, and die. Or worse.

Things shouldn't go wrong. I am aimed over the ocean. I will—I should—make a spectacular entry into the silk-slippery water. Swim my way up to the top again and shake my hair free of the salty droplets. Everything I had ever wanted in one moment of adrenaline.

If I miss, I will die.

But that is what makes it exciting, isn't it?

. . .

I am sprinting as fast as I can, against the churning of time. And no, I am not able to turn back time, not able to revisit the past or even freeze a special moment. All I can do is extend the time that I have and make everything seem like they would last an eternity.

Eternity. I will love you until the end of eternity.

Nate had said that before.

What happens when eternity ends then? What happens after that? Will Nate stop loving? Will our promises be no more?

But I am running against time, and it is stretching out as far as it can go. Every day is still different from the day before, but somehow magically better, even with the definite promise of an end to eternity eventually.

. . .

The way he plays the piano is breath-taking. Every note perfectly struck, strung together into a melody of soft passion. He is emotional with this, passionate, and it shows in the way he composes himself, in the way he pours his soul into the song.

We sat there, listening to the song resonating in our heads. Watching his slender piano fingers search for the right balance, sometimes feather light, sometimes painfully powerful. The music unwinds from his hands.

Just right. Just right.

The song reaches its finale, and he ends it with a flourish. Stands up, and can't help but to look back at the piano. It is a sleek, black thing, the keys ivory white and beckoning. He loves this piano, it is his soul, and in return the piano depends on him to stay on this dazzling stage often dominated by dancers and singers and actors.

Everyone is applauding, but they do not see the way he is looking at the piano, nor do they see his eyes reflected on the piano's glossy cover.

. . .

It only got worse from there, unless of course you had a different measure of good and bad. The first time they found themselves in the dark, they thought they had finally found the perfect haven. They held hands, confident they could tackle on the world.

Even if they jumped at every noise. Despite the darkness—or perhaps because of it—they had a perpetual fear that the world would find them eventually and drag them back to suffer.

When they fell to the ground, staring into the space where each other's eyes should be, they knew they were not defeated. Defeat meant your heart had given up. They still had each other, they still had reasons to go on.

The second time they found themselves in the dark, they were careful not to trip and fall. The fear was still there. It would probably always be there.

And by the time they grabbed onto each other, they already knew there was no escaping it.

. . .

Penn's ED results out tomorrow. I should be more anxious, but the date's just sort of crept up on me and I'm not extremely nervous right now.

Maybe because I have other, more important things to stress over. I never thought I would say that.