Work Text:
He did not know the color of her eyes, but he could feel her eyes on him. He did not know how many birthmarks were scattered across her skin, but his fingers could almost feel her warmth. He did not know to what name she tilted her head, but he knew she was his. His ears could not hear her words, but his soul was not deaf to her voice. He knew she was there somewhere waiting for him, just as he waited for her. He tried to find her in other women, men, and beyond. But none were his, as none were her.
He was tired. Tired of the silence that enveloped him. The coldness of his bed made him shudder even on summer nights. The lack of another plate beside him, the absence of her dress beside his, and the loss of her warmth beside him made him a half man—well, he was indeed missing his better half. Joel Miller might be the famous actor everyone wanted to own and call theirs. He smiled, hugged, signed, joked, and shook hands. Yet her absence was the only thing that accompanied him these days.
Years ago, the burden of chasing his dreams made him tolerate her absence. He could never forget her; he always felt her. And some nights, he wondered whether she, too, felt his absence. The need to tear his heart out crawled through his spine at the thought that she might not even want him, might have abandoned the hope of finding him, and might have decided to make a home with another man or woman. No.
Death weighs less than the thought that she does not want him. He tried. He did try to make a home with others. He is a good actor, but even a fake reality needs an element of truth — one that he fails to conjure with others. As he knows they are not her. Madness envelops him, when her absence chokes the soul out of him. He blames books and art for the intensity of love he feels for an unknown woman. He sucks and bites on his cigarettes instead of her lips, and he scoffs and spits at himself for thinking that there is one soulmate out of the eight billion people residing on this planet. Yet, his rational mind drags him to find comfort in the warmth of another human. That warmth metamorphoses into a numbing heartsickness that penetrates his soul as his seed swells and flows into another. As they curl up next to him and his fingers try to find warmth on their arms, oh! How he wishes it were her rather than this human. He curses his rational mind for this fallacy. He always treated them well - for a night or for many nights. Hugs, kisses, smooches, snuggles, cigarettes, chocolate, whiskey French fries, or just sleep – he will make that happen for them.
But he wondered how he would have treated her if this warm body in his arms was her. How well he would have treated her. He would pluck stars from the sky and adorn her hair. He would hang moon in their room, if she says she loves moon. He will tear is heart out and serve it in his palms, if she wants that too.
Every time he walks through the blinding flashes of glamour and the yelling of cameras, he wishes to find her eyes there. He knows he will not find her in the noise, but in the silence only. He might not have met her yet, but he knows his girl. He will recognize those eyes anywhere, as they hold his soul. He will see happiness and peace in them. How long should he wait for her? This fame and art without her do not taste as good as he hoped. He knew early on it would not feel the same without her, but he hoped to find her before this. He could not stop himself from wondering when he will walk through his success holding her hand. Does she like his work? Is she proud of him? Does she know that he is looking for her? Can she feel his love for her? Does she know that –
I love her without knowing her name,
as her name is MINE.
I love her voice without hearing it once in my life,
as her voice is my soul’s.
I love her, as I am hers
and she is mine.
I loved her before.
I love her still.
I will love her forever.