mystery of love, sufjan stevens
14TH DECEMBER, 2019
TWENTY TWO YEARS

Being with Seth after college had become a regular occurrence, and, in truth, less of a chore. It was an option that I'd found myself delighted to take: seeing him drawing, or thinking or simply gazing out of the window, eyes set on the heavy snow that settled onto the ground sombrely. Even with the knowledge that any day could be his last, I saw some light amidst the darkness. It was either Seth's smile, or his bored, lulling eyes that would keep me coming back.

This time, we sat on his bed—just like many years before. The only difference was that this one was much colder and less homey, and the decorations in the room were bare and too clean to be symbolic of Seth, for the artist was messy and disorientated even in aesthetic. That was, however, one of the many things I loved about Seth. I didn't tell him then, though. I don't think I ever would tell him, but I think he knew. Secretly, within. I don't think I needed my voice to say the words we both knew. I think the look in our eyes spoke volumes.

And it was that same look from years ago, when we stayed under the sheets and discovered love. That look of silent longing, of mutual understanding, of knowing that we will never feel what we feel now another time, for time was temporary like emotions, and that if we were to reminisce for a moment longer we would be wasting it. And yet I couldn't help but think of the past: the fuck ups, the good times, the jovial wit that embroidered itself into the foundations of our youth. I couldn't help but let a smile tug at the corners of my lips.

"Ainsley." Seth spoke in a quiet voice, the light of the room dim. Moonlight scratched at the windows, dying to feel an inch of the warmth that engulfed us. "You're smiling."

"Yeah, I guess I am."

"Why?" He turned to me, his breath tickling the faint hairs upon my throat. I could feel his eyes bore into my skin, examining the stubble that threatened to sprout upon my jaw, and the curve of my nose as it crinkled once acknowledging the faint dust that laced the sheets. It was like that night all over again, except I was Seth and Seth was I. The roles had reversed, just like everything in life. Seth was dying when he should be living.

"I can't help but think of that night." I confessed softly, letting my eyes meet his own. "I can't help but remember the feeling, and how that night was one of many, yet it was the most important one." We fell into silence until I broke it again. "You know?"

For a while, the silence resumed. Seth stared at me, examining the fading of my smile, looking at the moonlight within my eyes, which bore a contrast to the sun that slept within his own. "I know." He answered finally, blinking once, then twice, then thrice. "I know."

"Are you tired?" I asked, watching exhaustion tickle the corners of his lips, and lull his eyes to a shut. It was not even the end of our visiting hours, but he'd already drifted into a state of semi-consciousness. In the dark, I noted the prominence of his bones once more, the silent paleness of his skin as the light seemed to descend into its own slumber. "I can go if you're tired."

"No, no." He argued, shaking his head. I watched him, remembering how, once, wild curls would have shook at such an action. "Stay."

I laughed lightly. "Are you still afraid of the dark, Seth?"

"Always."

"Why?"

He didn't open his eyes. For a while, I thought he was asleep. Even so, I laid beside him, observing the way his face fell into a further slumber. Then, he spoke.

"Because I don't like my dreams, and I would rather stay awake for hours than witness them alone."

"Okay." I spoke softly, my voice only a whisper. "Okay, I'll stay."

I think Seth was already asleep by then, because he made no response physically or vocally. It seemed that he knew exactly what I would do and say, and was content with my answer. Still, I couldn't help but remember the night from many years before, and how it rung similar to this night the same. The only thing that was different, however, was that whilst Seth slept, I could not.