Space Chronicles, II

I’m in love with people I haven’t met and places I haven’t seen

“Twice they knocked on my door, ripping the tranquility of the evening as a thief breaking through a window pane. It was half past curfew, and outside the door the plated sconces on the silver walls would emit the softest yellow light, paying homage to the great hotels of the metropolis on Earth.

Peeping through the door was a her, Saira, inquisitive eyes much too soft for her face which ended in a pointy chin. She would be looking to continue the conversation of earlier, which more or less went:

‘Don’t say you don’t deserve me’, she says. ‘Just admit you don’t want to’.

‘My darling, I can’t love you. My heart belongs to the wild possibilities and my thoughts are owned by strangers. There’s not enough of me actually here to love you. I am, also, a bubble on the Moon – shiny and hollow’.

‘You pretentious, haughty poet’, she growled, not knowing she was more stating facts than being offensive.

So I wondered if I should even open the door and let the storm in, or shall I be dam? And in the end I relented, appeased my tugging heartstrings, turned the knob, pulled the door in, creased my eyebrows to depict worry.

‘Yes, m’dear?’

‘Drop it, you pretentious fuck.’ My bulged eyes feigned surprise. ‘There’s someone else, isn’t there?’

‘There is no such someone else, Saira’ and for all my shortcomings she knew I was sincere. ‘I am not for you’.

Her golden skin appeared much too yellow in the soft light. ‘It’s past curfew. You should rest.’

The corner of her somber eyes shone like a million geodes shimmering in place. She took the few steps that would lead her out of the room again and disappeared, at the end of the hallway, and I released a breath I did not know I was holding.

They can turn crazy, those ones.

It wasn’t three days later, as I sat on my piano and let the slightly muffled, slightly missing some gravity melody hum through my ears, when I saw her frolick about with someone new. They most likely matched through the Algorithm, which just knew better. Try this person. Date this one. I foresee a 91% chance of it working out, given that you work hard to diminish your habit of lying through your teeth about the little things. She obliged, happily – I was but a dent in her past, a shallow one, quick.

I picked up the pace of my music. There is no use trying to brake the high speed train.”

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