April 28, 2010

Futurama

Futurama
(written for Titular but got rejected because it isn't very good haha)

While God continues to prove to me that he does not exist, you, in fact, frequently show me that happiness can exist without him. Every single time I look into your eye, I am reminded how to smile. After I fell into the cryogenics freezer one thousand years ago, everyone I knew and loved died long before I was thawed. Even my dog. It is soul crushing. But you, you show me that I still have a reason to exist years after I was intended to.

The flat, violet strands of hair cover your eye in a way that reminds me clouds over the moon at night. Back before there were two of them. It complements the curves of your perfect, mutated body.

I want you to see me in the light of which I see you. Hear me out, for once using my words instead of actions. So I can smile.

No, I may not be as intelligent as you might like, but the size of my heart makes up for that. Maybe you can beat me in anything physical, but I can cleanse you with an emotion unlike any you’ve ever experienced.

This is not an act of desperation. This is intimacy in its primitive state.

We can steal the Planet Express ship for a night. I won’t tell the professor. We’ll cruise across Mars, maybe even swing by Persei 8 for some space cream cones. I’ll play a song I wrote for you on an instrument from my era. It’s called a guitar and its sound is created using vibrations. Sounds sexy, doesn’t it?

I would like to take you out to that fancy restaurant in Earth’s orbit. You know the one… Elzar’s. But I can’t afford it. So let me cook you something, instead. I’ll make something the ancient Italians called “Lasagna.” It tastes like heaven (no not the theme park, the religious one from ancient Christianity) and you don’t need to add water to it!

Please, girl, let me show you how to shine brighter than the sun in Solar System 42A in the mist of summer. Just look at me. I want to smile.

Sometimes I can feel your pulse when you pass out on the couch with me watching COPS: Illegal Aliens. It becomes a melody I can’t stop humming. Those dreams you have about holding hands with an unnamed, unfaced man; it’s me. I’m holding your hand after you fall asleep in my lap. I can see the corners of your lips curving up every time.

I can read your mind, or so I’d like to believe. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you look at me. I see you blinking at me in the locker room, pretending to glance elsewhere when I catch you. It’s the reason why I try to stay in shape. It’s the reason why I take concern in my dental hygiene.

Listen to my words here, let’s give it a shot. What have you got to lose?

And if you so choose to decline my very informally written proposal, can you promise to just look at me with that beautiful eye every now and then? It’s just enough for me to believe my existence here is significant. Everyone deserves to smile, at the very least.

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Currently listening to: Gorillaz
Song: Stylo (ft. Mos Def and Bobby Womack)
Album: Plastic Beach