we don’t need a hero’s fate (12/17/20)
″i want something i can touch, / something i can feel,
i learnt that my pride is my achilles heel. /
and when my time is up, you know my love was real:
i learnt that my pride is my achilles heel. ” -- gareth fernandez’s achilles.
“Do you think we’re real?” You ask. We’re swaying, now, across the floor, and we’re doing a dang good job at not bumping into the other couples. A sappy but upbeat song surrounds us, bouncing off the curtain-laden walls.
I let out a huff, then tug your hand a bit to tell you to spin me. “Could be, if we wanted.”
“I’m serious,” you say.
“I think everything else in the world could be not-real,” I answer. It’s not a good answer. But you’ll know what I mean. You always do. “And we’d be dancing here. Tangible as ever.”
You snort. I try not to feel unbearably fond. “So we’ll have a real happy ending, then?” You continue, eyebrow raising quizically. “You promise?”
“I promise,” I say, and seal it with a kiss to lock it into fate. If nothing else, then grant us this. “We can be real.”