I remember the exact moment I fell in love.
My mind has a way of recognizing instances that drastically change the course of my life before my direction is altered. My senses are elevated higher than the peaks of mountains, giving me an overview and heightened awareness of everything surrounding me. Yet, while I can recall the details of most of my surroundings, I can still picture every element of her in perfect lucidity.
She was extracted from my dreams, making me a believer of clairvoyance, but not of my own powers. She was beautiful beyond comprehension and imagination, conscious or otherwise.
Nearly two years have past and the memory has become its own muscle, growing stronger with visitation. I don’t daydream about it, but rather I press play and watch it like a movie. My eyes were the camera, my brain the film, and we, the characters.
We were characters rather than actors because we acted on how we felt, and didn’t act out feelings. There was no script, so there were no lines to forget, but the awkwardness was very real for me. Though, so were the excitement and the thrill.
A single kiss was the key that unlocked the chest where I kept my heart and emotions from seeing the light of day. In that instant, I transferred my soul to her across our bridged lips. When the bridge collapsed, my soul resided with her.
I loved her in an instant, and that love grew slowly over time while accruing more knowledge. Our souls were intertwined, and so became our interests and hobbies. The more I learned about her, the more I thirsted to become the most knowledgeable scholar in the field of her.
I studied her in my dreams every night and my thoughts every day. My tests were in conversation when I would remember the slightest details she rendered. She was my favorite class and choice professor.
She was every field of academia combined into one. Her own personal history. The formula she used that induced feelings of affection and love for her in me- chemistry. I counted the number of times she smiled, stuck out her tongue, blushed, and the number of freckles peppered across the bridge of her nose and cheeks- math. She challenged my way of thinking and made me question why some aspects of my worldview were as they were- philosophy. She had eyes vast enough for me to lose myself in- geography. Loving her was a language of its own, not so foreign to me anymore.
I remember the exact moment I fell in love. I can recall my thoughts throughout the whole process. My fears. My hope. I remember the feelings of hopelessness and acceptance when she burned the bridge our lips once built together.
Now she is the class I failed. Re-watching our movie is a few seconds of radiant filmstrip. The plot is finished and incomplete congruently; there was no resolve, but nowhere else to take it. The dreams from which she was extracted still occur, but her face has disappeared. I awake just before my lips graze a blank face.
I remember the exact moment I fell in love with her.