Hearts Are Wild Creatures

How do I even begin to tell you that I have fallen for you. Maybe I am wrong for doing that. Maybe you are not the right choice. Maybe. Maybe you aren’t even into me. Maybe you’re just there for the sake of being there. I don’t know what it is. But I want it to be. I want it to improve. I want you to be mine. Please be mine? Please?I am told that there are other fishes in the sea. I’d love to believe that. But right now my heart’s stuck on you. And I hate it for doing that. Hearts are wild creatures. Maybe that’s why our ribs are cages.When you’re gone (that’s ‘cause I know you will someday), I will take a solo voyage to pacify the rampage of my heart. I’ll tell it that it wasn’t meant to be. It clearly wasn’t. But just look at all the pretty things he taught you about life. Oh! So much love to hold in a finite vessel is just not possible.When you’re gone, wanderlust will be my solace. Flights of joy and journey of finding my own self. Maybe it was always my solace, even before you. I’ve traveled forever. It has been my escape. Maybe it will still be my escape when you’re gone? Sitting on a small round coffee table in front of a little restaurant decorated with fresh flowers, reading a French magazine, sipping coffee in some small, distant and beautiful village in France, wearing a big sun hat and shades and a bright yellow sundress. That ought to take my mind off of you. For a while, maybe.Or I will be quietly looking at the ships passing by at the Kobe bay harbour, on a  chilly and nippy winter morn, draped in layers of warm clothes. How the crew loads and unloads the ship. How a cruise brings new passengers on the harbor and how they huddle and fiddle and break off in their own individual directions.Maybe I will find myself on a safari through the big and vast areas of Australia on an open jeep, with binoculars glued to my eyes, looking at occasional herds of kangaroos and lonely wombats and wallabies. I will be greeted by a koala with just a dash of eucalyptus.And from safari, I mean I can even go to Serengeti and move through the vast swathes of grasslands. Spot a cheetah or maybe a pride of lionesses in action. A sprinting gazelle or a huge herd of wildebeest. Or maybe I’ll just visit Iceland. Reykjavík sounds like my kind of place. How funny it is that Iceland does not really have that much ice. Maybe I’ll sit in some old forest of tall trees which show signs of hundred years, all covered up in mosses. Some mysterious forest through whose canopy the filtered light barely reaches the ground. The shards that do pass the canopy illuminate the air in between, lighting up a thousand dust motes like tiny crystals.Maybe I’ll go on a cycling trip to an Italian countryside. Meet new people there. I don’t know how to speak Italian so I’ll just blankly stare at people. Then, I’ll remember you. You understood my language. Well at least I thought you did. The folk of the countryside will gladly dance with me. What a sunny day to have a ball.Better still. I’ll go to Antarctica. I’ll make up a small warm and cozy tent there. Sitting there with researchers and scientists discussing the events of today which I’ll jot down in my journal for the memoir that I will be writing, huddled around fire, eating molten strawberry flavoured ice cream. Then when the blizzard gets thick, the little penguins will come to us for warmth. I’ll gladly offer them my coffee. Do you think they will like that coffee? You loved it.
On a wild, wild trip to Mexico, I will get all my hair coloured red. Red because it signifies the fire in me. The fire that wills me to keep going on. My hair was red when I first met you. Wasn’t it? You remember it. Don’t you?