By Xavier Moon
I dream every day of an impossible love.
When I look into her eyes, I see the soft blue fire of a mind burning with passionate thought. I see the poetic soul that hides under a practical, utilitarian exterior. I see the insecurity masked by her brash confidence and authoritarian bearing. I see the childish playfulness of her heart alongside the painful longing she has for someone worthy of her.
To say I have wanted her would be irrelevant.
I have wanted her, needed her, lusted after her, cursed her, admired her, whispered her name at the edges of sleep. And yet it is absurd to say I want her, need her, lust after her. It is absurd because I know that it is enough for me to want her. It is enough for me to dream. And so in wanting I want not. In dreaming I have enough.
I have been to the depths – I reside in the depths – and I have seen that sorrow and joy are the same emotion in a slightly different tonality, that pain and pleasure exist for each other, that beauty is what is left when you strip away all your pretensions and assumptions and face the Universe unflinching and unblinking. To love is to hear the Universe speak to you and to have the courage to speak back and say “yes.”
What do I care if my love is impossible? I have said “yes.” Every time I say her name, I say “yes.”