You called me one night from a cemetery. The spirits had allegedly been calling to you, and you were slightly buzzed on the beer you had in your car.
“I called someone else, but I hung up on them as soon as they answered. I knew I had to talk to you.”
We spoke of meanings behind the things we do in this seemingly infinite universe we call home. We talked about how much we were in sync with each other, and how it was possible that we were brought together by some cosmic fate. None of this fell in line with my beliefs. I believed that we lived in a chaotic universe and that all meetings were coincidental, random, a creation of a Big Bang without an author to write it.
“After meeting you,” I said, “I don’t know what to think. You’ve shown up into my life and turned it upside down, inside out, and everything in between.”
This was also the first time we had spoken since the first suicide scare. I started to talk about what happened, and then stopped because I felt I was being too much. You told me not to stop, that you wanted to hear my raw emotions, that you needed to hear them. Afterwards, we fell into a deep philosophical conversation where you became quiet. I stopped to ask if you were okay, and you replied with “no, don’t stop. It’s all beautiful,” so I kept speaking on whatever subject my heart was currently wrapped around.
Our conversation then shifted to a more personal one. I brought up how you were having such an impact on my life, both personally and creatively, and you were so touched that you let out what sounded like an enthusiastic squeal...I think... Regardless, you were happy.
You then conveyed a similar story, that I also felt touching, something that warmed my heart.
And then you let it slip...
Three words.
“I love you.”
- Jaclyn