Over a cup of mosambi juice we discussed everything from soulless jobs to life long dreams and politics. The Indian monsoon, our catalyst, thrust us into a deep chemical reaction that made night and day one and wreaked utter havoc on our subconscious and conscious minds.
In one dark room in the heat of summer we spend hours trying to unfold the mystery we found in each other. They were months of fevered desire that made it difficult to remember where everything began. They were times that made us lose all interest in life and all motivation because we found so much contentment that we couldn't contain without making place for it by destroying something else. So we destroyed all the past and began from scratch. Times when meeting friends for lunch seemed like foreplay because it teased out all the moments we would rather spend just with each other. Times when we knew that nothing would ever equal or come close to equaling what our bodies and minds were going through and yet we dove into the abyss relentlessly.
A friend once told me that Native Americans always left a tiny flaw in their handmade jewelry. This saved the jewelry from the wrath of God's because only God was allowed to create perfection. I know that God does not create perfection because he created you. Remember that time I said - to me you are perfection? I lied. I meant to me you are perfectly flawed. To me you are where I began and where I end.
