Det var hovedsaklig tre ting som fikk meg til å skrive denne teksten: 1) Jeg ble inspirert av Carina sin tekst, 2) jeg burde venne meg til å skrive på engelsk siden jeg antageligvis skal studere creative writing i England til høsten, og 3) det er noe med det å ligge våken klokka fem om natta og egentlig burde sove som gjør meg utrolig kreativ. Her er resultatet:
I sat next to him at the top off a high cliff. He faced the other way with that far distant look he wears so well. I looked down at my feet, dangling over the top of the cliff into the air. I got that tingly feeling, the feeling you get when you are inches away from the edge, and just simple movements or choices can send you off, falling into the abyss. Usually, as you realize that, the fear kicks in. I was pretty familiar with this feeling. But this time I wasn't scared. I was with him.
"You know, it's not like I don't want you to meet my friends and family," I said suddenly.
"Then how come I haven't?" he asked, looking down.
I repositioned myself so I was facing him, moving closer toward the edge in more than one way. Still, no fear.
"You know when you hear a beautiful song, and you love it?"
He nodded, but said nothing.
"And the song is so beautiful, so wonderful, that each time you hear it your hearts feel bigger and you get goose bumps all over?"
He nodded again.
"So since you've discovered this masterpiece of a song, you feel like sharing it with the whole world. The song is so amazing that it would almost be a crime to keep it to yourself. You just want to play it on every radio in the world, letting everyone experience this fine piece of art. Letting them feel exactly how you feel whenever you hear the song. You know that feeling?"
"Yeah," he said.
"But, then, at the same time," I continued, "you just want to keep it to yourself, so no one else can hear it. You want it to be yours, something special that is just for you. It is something so beautiful and so sacred that it just can't be shared with a lot of people. It wouldn't be right, it wouldn't be natural. So you just keep it to yourself and enjoy the fact that the song is just yours. Do you know that feeling?"
"Yeah," he whispered.
"Well, that's how I feel about you. You have greatness inside you. I see it in you. I see it in you every day. I'm just not sure if I'm ready for the world to see it yet."
He sighed and took my hand. I put my head on his shoulder.
"I know," he said. "Let's just hope you don't get tired of the song."
It was quiet for a moment, and then I spoke.
"Some songs you just don't get tired of. Some songs play in the background all the time, but you never really notice them because they're always just there. Like the soundtrack of a movie. But you're not like that, either. You're like the songs you hear even after you've turned off the music. Like the songs that you can hear over and over again, and you still notice new things. They still make you feel like you're the only one who can hear them, like they were made for you and you only. And that kind of songs you never get tired of."
He looked at me for a long while. Then he smiled and kissed me.
"Now get off that edge, you're making me nervous."
He stood up and walked away, and I fallowed. I did it because I loved him, not because I was scared. The tingly sensation moved from my legs and up to my heart. And right then and there I knew I would never be scared again, as long as he was with me. Somewhere, in the distant, someone played music.