3,337

 

He saw the world in moving frames, one after another. A flickering shutter catching light in rapid sequence. 

She collected life and spilled it out onto a page. Lines flowing from her hand, color blooming across the paper. 

 

Both sought an eternity of moments. 

The flash of sun through spring leaves, the sharp intake of breath when pale skin meets cool waters. Houses in little rows and beat up sneakers on midnight pavement. They hunted for a smile, growing slow and small in the ease of a well tread conversation.

 They wanted nothing more from life than to experience it. 

 

That was how they wanted to live, in those moments. May they be few and far between or one right after another, they craved those snippets of the world, tried to catch them in rolls of film and notebooks as if they were fireflies. 

 

But one cannot keep memories in a jar on the self, taking them down one by one, to peer through the wobbly glass and relive the feeling of wind of fingertips, or open the lid to lean in and hear a heart thrashing against ribs. The two knew they could only bat their fingers at such things. 

 

The shutter would never stay open long enough to drink in true touch and sound, real light. A paintbrush could only render so many scenes, forever motionless. Neither would give them back those minuets, hours, or days. They knew that, try as they might. 

 

So, they lived. They lived for the pure feeling of it. From the sweet stick of honey on their lips to the dull pain of separation, they lived. Oceans apart they continued to root through the catacombs of dullness for those particles of light, of consciousness. Their fingers plucking from the world what caught their breath and proved a Creator.

 

She knew he was yearning for the same bits she was and soon took comfort in knowing that 3,337 miles away, over swells and oceans deep, a camera was clicking, a pen scribbling, and a boy behind them searching. 

 

He imagined her building an unfamiliar life, perhaps with different light, cooler winds buffeting her windows, and peculiar sounding voices saying her name. He knew that 3,337 miles away in a strange city, a familiar hand was drawing and a girl behind it was searching, too. 

 

Now they simply wanted to return. 

To experience those things together once more, side by side. 

To let the same world flow through them and around them as they kept their eyes open and fingers ready for the touch of it, fleeting and full of something. To share the search.

At least thats what she wrote, those 3,337 miles away.

 And perhaps there it was true.