Something old.
Dew droplets formed on grass, and our feet violated their almost holy bond: that water was a pure influence upon the grass tainted by its mere position, and here we were, interfering in its sacrament. It was awfully rude of us: though downtrodden and soiled by the very earth which served as its anchor, the shimmering influence of the droplets seemed to fill those tiny blades with a sense of hope that they could rise from their low station, some day. God, how they were a microcosm of ourselves. We had had our little stumbles. Our worries. But there was always something ahead of us, and the low morning sun always made us feel infinite: there was nothing else, there were just two people with a unifying purpose of hedonism.
We kept things simple, didn’t we? Pleasure above all else; fuck everything else. We didn’t discuss anything of consequence: not of philosophy, not of politics; nothing beyond the then-and-there. Yet it always felt significant. Profound, even, in its simplicity. Casual chatter amongst the sea of insults being flung between us: god, it really was perfect. You were as irreverent as I, and with an added arrogance unparalleled by even myself. You actually impressed me. You seemed to be of that rare breed that could only be comfortable in company such as mine. God, how I’ve developed a habit for collecting these people. You were one of the first: one of the first to find trust in me. Ha, how I thought that you were deluded. How I still do.
Your eyes had always been so lustrous before, but now they were glassy. Wide-open and unfocused in my direction. I never knew how to read you, and I never learned. You always kept me guessing: your talent for hiding the true tone of your sentiments had gotten us into spats of sorts in the past, but I knew that there was something honest in this blank stare. Something that I hadn’t seen in you before. Affection? No, it was less than that: something more basic. Something more instinctive. It was mere thought, in all of its glorious entirety. It was electricity: all electricity. Neurons firing on and off to power that great machine that was your mind. The cogs turned with discernible regularity: a regularity telling of your logical nature.
Clunk. Thought. Clunk. Rationale. Clunk. Evaluation. Clunk. Conclusion.
You blinked and your eyes returned to moist normality, and I watched your iris find its ideal combination of linear and circular muscle contraction. When it had found this, I myself readjusted my focus to find your gaze fixed on mine. We were so connected. There really was no one else. Nothing else. Everything behind your face had descended into the resplendent distortion of bokeh: perfect circles of out of focus material and light. It was a wonderful backdrop for you. Greens and browns became one; the grass dissolved into little more than a blur. It was just you. You and I.
I needed to be inside your head.