brandnewswastikas:

I can imagine meeting you in person for the first time. It’s perfect. You are wearing slim, black jeans and a very white shirt. The shirt has the name of a band on it. I have heard of the band, but I’ve never listened to them because I am a snob. I tell you this and you laugh. The night is warm. We walk together. The traffic is not so bad. It’s not as noisy as I would have thought. We are near a frozen yogurt restaurant and I ask you if you would like some. You would like some.

Inside, the lights seem even brighter than they really are. We had been walking for almost thirty minutes before we came inside. Our eyes were used to the dim, yellow light of the street lamps. You look incredibly beautiful. You looked incredibly beautiful outside as well, but now, with the light bringing every one of your details into clear view, I can’t believe what I am seeing. Are you the most lovely thing I have ever seen? Maybe you are. I hope you are.

You fill your paper bowl with a mix of two different flavors. It seems like an odd combination to me. I find that charming. “I always get kiwis on it,” you say. I like kiwi as well. Your hair moves like a billowing curtain as you turn - slow, sensual, as if by providence. You decline my offer to pay with a smile so sweet and honest that it becomes difficult for me to breathe.

God, what have you created? Thank you.

Outside, the air feels cooler now. You turn the small, plastic spoon over in your mouth with each bite. I feel nervous when I look at you. I tell you a story about going to an art museum when I was a child. I don’t remember much about the experience. I do remember one painting very clearly, though. It was a portrait. I don’t know who painted it, but I can recall what it looked with perfect clarity. I looked at that painting for a long time. It made me feel nervous. It seemed unearthly. I could not believe that it was made by human hands. It was so much more than that. You tell me that it’s a shame that I can’t remember who painted it. I don’t say anything.

You have taken the place of that painting. You are beyond anything I can comprehend. Your beauty and warmth radiate so intensely that I feel physically weakened. I worry that my legs will give out with each step. You take another bite and smile. I glance away from you, fearing that just one more second in your presence will prove too much for me.

I feel your hand touch my arm. My entire body becomes electric. I am more alert than ever before. The pressure from your hand gets stronger. Your small, warm hand. You push with all your might and I stumble into the street. It happens very quickly. The truck strikes me from the back. I feel my head hit the ground. You are glowing with a beauty unequaled. I am dead and you are beautiful.