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I am fourteen, you are thirteen.
Math tuition is the last place I expected to find a fellow musician, let alone a violinist. Our lines of vision land on the tell-tale shape of the violin cases that stick out like a sore thumb on both our backs, and I feel myself blurting out, “What grade are you in?”
A question that would eventually lead to multitudes. Our mothers’ incredulity at not having to drag us kicking and whining out the door for lessons at Kumon anymore, meeting once again at orchestra, the gradual invitations to stay over at each other’s houses for dinner and having duet sessions that would eventually lead to sleepovers, reveling in our shit-eating grins when our moms yelled at us for being too rowdy. . .
We continue to savor popsicles at the beach in the sweltering summer and stomping on the dead leaves in fall, hearing them crunch under their heels and you smugly yelling out what pitch the sounds were. Each winter was always spent pelting snowballs at each other and subsequently snuggling on a beanbag at your house, indulging in the comforting hot cocoa your mom made.
I want things to stay like this forever,
life is perfect as it is.
I am twenty, you are nineteen.
Life in uni is every bit as fun as we’ve been told from seniors.
Chasing men and women across parking lots into the late nights, giggly and inebriated on cheap beer, as well as the whims of a poignant loneliness that yearns, floating adrift our sea of consciousness.
But we’ve made peace with that.
Love for forever is elusive for a reason; infinity with someone is but a trope only shown in the cinema reels. So once again, I let myself get lost in the arms of a fleeting stranger, and every time I see your lips on another girl’s, I simply tug those unfeeling arms closer.
You are living your best life, and I take it as yet another sign to live mine. ignore everything else ignore the heartache banging its fists against the prison of your stubborn denial ignore the bitterness on your tongue that definitely isn't from the alcohol ignore everything you know you ought to feel.
Life is . . . okay.
I am twenty five, you are twenty four.
Just when I thought we’ve already long reached the peak of batshit insanity, you always find ways to prove me absolutely wrong.
“Let’s do a worldwide concert tour!”
You're fuckin' crazy.
No fucking way.
“You know what, why not.”
… damn it.
Everything that entailed having a kickstarter: busking from dawn till sunset, serenading audiences like we’ve always loved doing, and sleeping on the empty and unexplored streets like the sleepovers we’ve had as kids but with more thrill, excitement, independence; hell yeah, we’re fuckin’ adults now!
Alas, our reckless fervor sprinted a mile a minute and demanded more than what our bodies could handle. And as the kickstarter funds grow dishearteningly slowly, our eyebags seem to carry a little more weight than the previous day and our fingers grow less nimble and more numb, aching, begging to just stop, give up already.
Yet another night, where we were both too tired to sleep. He turns his head away from me, for the first time since we've committed to this endeavour.
“I’m sorry, Brett. for dragging you into this. You didn’t have to bear the consequences of my stupid idea.”
In the several years of our time together, I’ve never heard Eddy sound as broken as he did right now.
And I don’t feel pity or sympathy, nothing coddling like that. Only indignance and raw anger threaten to boil over and burn everything within my skin. This fucking moron!
“You- don’t apologise, you goddamn idiot. You should know me better than that. I said yes, I promised to do this with you, every step of the way, and we sure as hell are going to succeed, no matter how long it takes us. We’ll show everyone that Twoset isn’t a lost cause, we’ll laugh at their stupid shocked faces when they see us later, we’ll fucking make it work okay, you and me together. Always. Don't you dare imply otherwise, don't undermine me like that.”
He doesn’t breathe, for a moment. The pin-drop silence holds long enough to hear a cricket chirp, and then he's looking at me again and his eyes are glossy under the apathetic moonlight.
We utter breathy promises of a steadfast future together, into our hands clasped under our hollowed cheeks and chapped lips. The occasional wisps of cold winds seem to whisper their disdain; starry eyed fools; but no matter.
I haven’t an iota of doubt that there is hope for us yet.
Morning comes as swiftly as the night fades, we get back to business, bones ceaselessly screaming for a week long rest and threatening to turn to dust at any moment,
and on the chilly night of 30th March, our dream that seemed likely to crumble to ashes a few days ago starts to rebuild and manifest itself in front of our eyes.
The ticking of my watch in tandem with our thrumming heartbeats and eyes zeroing in on the all-important number on the trembling screen.
I’m all too aware of the rocky asphalt of the pavement digging into my worn and weary heels, the intermittent lighting of the towering street lamps, watchful of our embrace like an intruding priest, the riptide of my emotions threatening to spill over.
The white noise of the universe and the long-forgotten front camera are secondary only to your ragged sobbing into my nape and the unbridled crescendo barreling through my veins like liquid fire, thrashing its way out into the night and forcing it to listen.
“I love you, Eddy.”
“I love you too.”
Our arms around each other tighten. I feel my throat constrict.
With you, I’ve rediscovered my faith in infinity, to finally know what it feels like to carry my whole life in mere bare hands.
I am twenty eight, you are twenty seven.
For half my life, I’ve clutched the VIP ticket to the front seat of your life’s theatre tightly against my chest, bearing witness to every time you’ve left your heart bare, to let it bleed dry and then stitched back together. In other words, I've been watching the motion-work of you and me.
The cameras we sit in front of every day capture nothing close to this masterpiece privy only to us, away from the millions of prying eyes and unfounded speculations. Only we know.
The lanky, naïve wallflower with acne-strewn cheeks and myriads of insecurities has bloomed into a sinewy, self-assured fleur with rosy dimpled cheeks and only love and sunbeams in his caliber to give.
Some would say the stars have aligned for us to meet. Maybe they have, or perhaps not, i wouldn’t fucking know or care.
I would set heaven ablaze and dethrone god myself, pry the stars from his ignorant hands and will them into doing just your bidding alone. There is no cupid at work, no Aphrodite fiddling with puppet strings. Whether it’s now, or the many lives before and after, I’ve only ever chosen you.
Venus, in all her genteel omniscience, seems to be humming a faint song of affirmation.
I’d like to stay like this forever, staring into the twinkle in your brown eyes and truly knowing what it means to stargaze, the steady rhythm of your heartbeat, all for my ears only, more soothing and personal than all the repertoire in existence.
Our lives are as intertwined as our limbs cocooned under this fleece blanket; we belong to each other in every conceivable realm, be it somewhere in a space-time glitch in the milky way, or the multiple dimensions in those ridiculous conspiracy theories you like to read.
I do love you, and you’ve always known that. You tell me you love me too, with every other breath you inhale, you subsequently exhale those three words that make my knees weak so damn effortlessly. Even when sunlight has only just started filtering in through the sheer curtains, even when you smear blueberry jam on my cheek during breakfast and call it an accident, even when you’re reveling in my scowl after fruitless attempts to imitate your perfect pitch, and especially when my ass is facing the heavens and your flesh sears comfortably hot against mine; connected in every sense of the word.
Even beyond these moments; decades later, when TwosetViolin inevitably fades into distant cherished memories and there is only Brett and Eddy. How we’ve always been, always will be.
I am Brett, that is to say, all that I am is of you.
You are Eddy, and that is to say, all that you are is of me.