When I was seven I summoned spirits with an Ouija board and shadow-souls
guided my hands towards the letter 'S' after I asked, in my defining romantic
fashion, "who is man I fall in love with?"
I made a list of Seth and Sam and Scott until I envisioned names in languages
that have never danced on my tongue and surnames that sound like writings
out of fairy tales.
I like to think that my musing and poems and all the fantasy-oriented writings
I've produced have all been about this ambiguous 'S'.
Though I'm in awe over how out of sync the hemispheres of my brain need to
be for the logical to collide with the fantasy. Because there are about 6,800 to
6,900 bodies of words and systems in today's modern civilization and most, if
not all, have to contain the letter 'S'.
The odds of me discovering the function of two sets of 206 bones laying perfectly
still on a spring mattress together with a boy called 'S' are probable and far from
my illusion.
All in all I've misconstrued my perception of infatuation and love based on what
I chose to believe that night I used a telephone of sorts to contact dead lovers,
who watch over the living to see the anatomical parts they don't have anymore
collide with each other.
I love the boy called "S".
My writing has and always will be about the boy called 'S'. And when I find the boy
called 'S', I won't mention any of this because I'm well aware of how daft this all sounds.
Of how I allowed ghosts to untangle the read thread tied to my left ring finger
and lead me to the other end of the string.