The world spins on an axis I yearn to join. Instead I am tilted at my own angle, some type of vertical one that allows me to watch everything spin and spin and spin. It allows me to yearn, but also to be badgered and beat, to be hit by pieces of brick, leftovers of human beings, lost memories, lost hopes, and whatever else that follows the world.
You do not follow the world. I have noticed it, because we are pillars in this chaos. We turn in a circle, upright, and dodge what we can. Our blood spills on the ground but we stay standing, straight and solid. We brave the world, even as it runs around us.
I think there’s something beautiful about you.
I told you this once, when I had enough courage to move closer, and you looked at me, with your kind brown eyes glinting and told me, “Then you must admit there is something beautiful about you, too.”
I’d like to believe you.
I think a part of me is starting to.
Sometimes we start our own revolutions together. You take my hand, and kiss its knuckles like they are something precious, something unmarred, nothing like the sharp bleeding cuts that run along the ridges of my finger bones. I let you, and when you are done, I dip down so that I feel like I’m a princess, sliding my foot behind me so I am in a subservient arch.
You laugh at our charade and pull me in close, and then we start to dance. Neither of us is very good, and we stumble over each other’s toes, dodging all the things the world unwillingly throws. Sometimes I forget that you should lead and take control, dragging our feet to the edges of docks, and the start of the water because I’ve always been drawn to it.
Even when I apologize, however, you never tell me “I forgive you”. Instead you take us in for another spin, letting our bare feet crash and splash in the tepid waves.
“There is nothing to forgive, Princess,” you say, “You’re a wonderful leader anyway.”
It’s something a lonely person never thought they could hear, so I smile and laugh.
You take us away from the beach eventually, because there are many things that revolve here, and we cannot keep up far enough to not be hurt. As if you can sense my longing, you promise me we will come back with the press of your lips and the twitch of your fingers against the hem of my dress. I always believe you, because, to this day, you have never once lied to me.
We keep spinning.
I wonder if one day we’ll get to spin so fast that we draw the world in with us. What if you take us too far, somewhere all the good things are, and our tangled legs find a way to twirl so fast that we fly. Maybe the world won’t be able to bother us, because the world will turn on its axis to be a part of us.
I’m dizzy now.
I think you notice, but we both know we cannot stop anymore. Our feet have long since stopped standing still, and our eyes have long since been looking only at each other. We are good dance partners now. We do not dodge and trip and stumble.
We do not need to know what the world is doing, what debris comes our way. Instead our feet are cursed, they no longer touch the floor, and we hover a thousand feet up. I miss the ocean, a part of me always will, but the moon shines here, and so do we.
That’s not too bad, right?