An angel left a harp in my heart
Last December, you asked me to describe what you were to me. I remember taking a moment to breathe — painting scenarios is my wolfsbane, second to making oats. I told you to picture furniture pieces in a house you own.
Sometimes, you move the furniture around to give it a new feel, other times you change your chair and table for new ones, but it remains your home. Regardless of how we are, where we are or what we do, my heart is a place you can always return to. I will always be home to you.
You’ve been absent for so long that time has settled like dust in this forgotten space. There are cobwebs in every corner and the paint is fading away. You loved a beautiful set of cutlery, you especially loved them in bright colours.
Your drawer looked like a rainbow. It’s not conventional but you made it work. The drawers are now empty. I can’t seem to find the wall clock and our portraits have been laying facedown for quite a while now. This house — strange yet intimately familiar — no longer recognizes itself. I sit in the middle of this mess and whistle notes: an orchestra of memories.
An angel left a harp in my heart; it only plays tunes that echo your name. Meeting you was everything I thought it would be and more. My knees were weak, my voice disappeared into the abyss and my eyes could not hold yours for more than a second or two. I smiled a thousand times in the brief moments we shared which felt like an eternity. I now understand what Hazel Grace meant by, “some infinities are bigger than other infinities.”
“Hi, how are you?” We mirrored each other’s words as if distance hadn’t eroded the feeling of belonging. I knew the day would come when I would see the stars twinkle in your eyes. I did not know that day was today; you’ve imprinted yourself on my mind — a constant.
When my arms wrapped around you and I could feel you holding your breath, I realised I was holding mine too. There was a silent agreement that if we allowed ourselves the grace of breathing, then life would continue, and that moment would be lost amongst the tiny fragments of our everyday lives. So we held our breath. I offered tiny prayers to God, asking for time to stop. I held you and all our dreams had hue again, the chair moved right back to where it was meant to be and our cutlery drawer had your favourite colours.
Air escaped your nostrils and mine; time marched on.
I’m putting this house back in order, I bought light bulbs on my way home. I want to illuminate every corner of this house. I do not wish for darkness to lurk around like it did the last time. I want to do this without restraint, with no training wheels or elbow pads I want to fall totally and never get up again. I want to have your pictures and mine standing side by side with those of our kids. I want it to be home to you, again. I want a thousand infinities with you.
I’m Seuncaleb, Omo ìfẹ́, and these words are meant to be felt. ps. I’m having a show on the 7th of December, you can register here
