Children

If we had met as children, then perhaps this feeling would not be so big. If we had met as children, then perhaps we would still be together, you and me; and you and me with the stars in our eyes, with the dreams in our hearts.

I want to remember the time we danced stupidly beneath Chinatown lanterns and Soho night lights. I want to remember how you wouldn’t take my money because we weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend, but we still laughed and joked like maybe we were, maybe we would be one day, maybe, maybe, again and again, and again, and again.

I told you I’d be a famous astronaut some day. I looked up at the stars beyond the haze, your hand in mine, and I promised you one day I’d go into space and I’d take your picture with me. Like a framed portrait of a famous actress or a celebrated saint, I’d carry you with me beyond the pale clouds that drifted so high above us. With your picture, I would go into orbit, upside down, inside out, the earth turned upon its side and it wouldn’t matter because we’d kind of be there together.

That day it snowed in the city, heavy dust of white falling down on Piccadilly like the clouds themselves had come down to kiss us goodnight and wish us on our way. I told you that everything was signed and sealed by this change in the weather. You just smiled and nodded your head.

I used to love the way you never told me the truth, never thought it would be the one thing I’d learn to resent you for.

When we first met we talked silly things about how we’d change the world, how we were undefeated, boxers coming home with bruised and broken lips to home made dinners and warm milk from loving mothers. We were the champions of being out of place and out of time, we were world famous, world renowned, with all the time between here and daylight savings.

Yet those silly things never came to pass, the streets in which we danced grew up to bury us. The city shrugged, and we lost our grip.

We let go of each other and, having found ourselves apart, we found it surprisingly easy to go on, one with the other.

If we had known each other as children, if we had been born twins, wrapped up in the womb, arm in arm, face to face, then I wouldn’t be watching aeroplanes leaving without you.

If we had known each other as children, I wouldn’t be here alone. If we had known each other as children, I wouldn’t have let you go.

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