Dementia

 

This is how I will fall in love with you.

You will be gracefully walking across the room of my favorite coffee shop and you will lean on the counter while placing an order for your favorite frappucino. I will turn sideways and catch you there—a radiant ball of sunshine, burning so bright that I will have to look away. But one simple glance will not be enough and I will have to lift my eyes again. I will look at you with eyes that have never seen anything like you before. You will feel the intensity of my gaze grazing against your back and you will find me. You always do. For a split second our eyes will lock and it would feel like eternity—an eternity that I just want to end. I will shift in my seat because of the intimidating luminance you are emanating from a few meters away. And my cup of coffee will topple a bit and droplets of espresso will stain my shirt, as your existence will stain my mind.

Then the barista will call out your name, Dementia, and hand you your frappucino with a little more whipped cream. As whipped as I am. And you will look for a place in this crowded room of faceless people. And for a very brief moment a flicker of excitement will cross your eyes when you see the empty seat in front of me. You will start crossing the room again, a little faster this time—almost urgent—and in a few strides you will be in front of me. You will stand there for a few seconds, perhaps preparing for the kill. I will not fail to notice the waterfalls of your flowing hair, or the paralyzing jolt from your vivid eyes. And then you will take that seat, with a small smile lacing on your lovely lips. No words will come out, no questions will be asked. Just you and me and our cups of coffee. And no, the next moments will not be a blur of interweaved events. It will be a slow, timeless thread of unduly love affair.

And yes, I will know all of these. And because I will know everything, I will also know the danger ahead. And I will know what to do—I will do none of these. Because from the moment you place your feet on the entrance of my favorite coffee shop, I will run away from you.

And this is how I know I will not fall in love with you.

 


Jasmine Santos is a free spirit roaming in the worlds of poetry in search for liberty—a way to find freedom from the mundane boundaries. You can find more of her works at jpsaintsblg.wordpress.com and on her Tumblr.

Art by JC Jacinto.

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