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The art of being infinite
And even now, seven years later, I can still remember.
You know, maybe it had something to do with the air or the very ground we were standing upon, but I swear to you, there was something magical about that night. Something that neither him nor I really knew at the time.
And that makes me sad.
I remember spending all that day running around the field, playing hide-and-seek and acting as if we didn’t have a care in the world.
It was summer and we felt great. Hell, we felt untouchable.
But somehow, without our knowledge, dawn became dusk and that beautiful, brilliant summer sun disappeared from our grasp. We were exhausted and hungry yet we refused to go inside. So instead, we decided to sit in this small clearing amongst the crickets and the worms in this sunflower patch that we didn’t even know to whom it belonged. And we were dirty and smelly but we didn’t care. Because we knew, we knew that that night was going to be perfect.
And boy, were we right.
I think that part of the magic came from the sky that night. I wish you could’ve seen it, I truly do. I swear I saw the stars and the moon dance this beautiful waltz, slowly making these haphazard circles amongst the vast darkness. I don’t think I’ll ever forget how I felt so small yet filled with so much hope whenever I looked up at that night sky.
But all of it would have been meaningless had he not spoken those words.
All of it would have been meaningless had he not looked at me when he spoke.
All of it would have meant nothing had he not looked at me and said, “One day you’re gonna laugh real loud and not be so sad anymore. Everything is gonna be all right. I promise you.”
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