2nd person short exploring a memory and emotions towards a significant other
Perfection is what I see when I look at you with the sun shining behind your hair, the golden glow complementing it. Your hair is light brown, messy, and a little curly just like I like it. Your freckles, dashed across your nose, stand out more this way. Your eyes are bright and happy to see me. Your lips, rosy pink against slightly tanned skin, look softer than I have ever recalled. They’re turned up into a smile. And then your arm is around me, pulling me against you. You're sturdy and warm; the safe haven I have searched for in desperation for god knows how many years. You are everything I need. You are my perfection.
Though this moment is short as you press your lips to mine, the memory plays out in a matter of hours. Time seems to have stopped as my mind reflects and it recalls added details. I am not wearing black jeans, a white t-shirt, and light brown leather sandals. You are not in your pajama pants and snarky black t-shirt. Or maybe you are. Maybe I'm just in a cute dress, my hair not so messy, wearing adorable flats instead of those hideous sandals. I always look better in my mind.
In this memory world, we're not even outside your powder blue house where green grass is covered with leaves and the bushes block the window to your room. No, we're elsewhere. The trees behind your head are still there, but in bright oranges and deep reds of autumn. The leaves are falling, dancing in the wind behind your head. We're on the edge of the meadow I imaged for us long ago that day in my living room when I dubbed you my knight and I your princess to save.
Yes. This is where we are. Not at your house, not in this city, not in this state. We're in this world I made for us. And it's perfect.
I'm not talking about the flawless perfection that everyone is obsessed with. It's more of the everything-feels-right kind. We still fight, hurt, and scream. Our humanity is still there, because who would we be without it? I am still me and you are still you. Perhaps we are romanticized just a bit, for here our flaws make us amazing when we’re just like everyone else.
And this is part where things are no longer special.
We're just humans, specks floating on the wind of the vast universe. What do we matter? What does my world made for us matter?
But this is not a time to reflect on that, though I am suddenly thrown back into harsh reality. I am no longer in that perfect moment. Instead I am here, and you are there. Here is my bed, mattress bare, covered in various stains, food crumbs, mismatched pillows, and my blanket. And you, there, in a room, in a bed, that I can no longer picture. Even you, I can no longer see. You are a blur in my mind's eye. Only bits of you shine through. Eyes. Freckles. Lips. Sun behind your head.
Everything in here feels so harsh. The light is too bright and is exposing all that is me. I am completely vulnerable with this light on. Even though I hide behind technology, behind a laptop and headphones, I feel the things in my head, the creatures lurking in the air, can still get to me. My heart is wide open for attack, my soul unprotected, cowering in the corner and waiting to be consumed.
I can almost feel you here. Your arms around me, your hands rubbing at my arms to let me know I am safe. But it's not enough to keep the creatures of my mind at bay. Nothing ever has been. Nothing ever will.
It does not matter how perfect I find you, or how perfection manifests in your existence. My demons can still find me.