“I wish life had a pause button,” I said, my eyes glinting against the diamonds in the sky.
On that night, I remember being embraced by the cold breeze while my hand was warmed by yours. The vehicles outside relentlessly rushed through the road, oblivious that in this enormous world full of chaos, there existed a kind of peace impossible to be translated to the words of poetry. We stood behind an old, rusty gate, isolating us from the disastrous world, while our hands were ironed by the flames of our hearts.
On that night, we were flowers blooming in the midst of a lethal storm, seeds sprouting in the height of drought. We were the successful version of Romeo and Juliet, and the joyful rendition of Cleopatra and Mark Antony. We were life in death, and hope in defeat. And I wished for nothing but to stay in that moment, to linger until our hands burn before life proceeds.
On that night, we were granted that pause; we lived in a limited infinity. But soon, life demanded that it, once again, play.
On that night, we crossed that old, rusty barrier before time took away the freshness of our story. We became synonymous with that gate – old and rusty, albeit it no longer hid us from the chaos of the world for turmoil grew within our very core. Our hands grew cold; the flames in our hearts receded. And when the peace we once experienced finally faded together with the rushing vehicles, I then remembered your reply: “Why pause? So you can play it again?”
On that night, I did not wish for a stop button.
Perhaps, if I did so and the heavens were merciful, we would still be standing before that old, rusty gate, our hands ironed by the flames of our hearts.
Perhaps, our infinity would not be limited.
Perhaps, there would not be any perhaps.