A Letter From an Illusionist

I can make your heart stop for few seconds, or love in your heart that compels you to stare in awe at anything your eyes look at.
I once made a girl disappear while everyone was watching and her mother cried out “bring back my daughter!” While I tried to hide my grin not to seem so cruel.
I can remind you of your childish fears, but I don’t want to, and I won’t, because what you were or are afraid of does not define you, so I choose to pretend that I am not aware of them. I understand what it’s like to feel the need to protect the child you contain inside,

I can keep a flower for you behind my back for when you can’t smile anymore and whisper the words you feel that you need to hear.
I, the illusionist, can make the weather cooler for you while you focus deep inside my eyes as I tell you not to pay attention to anything but my words and the atmosphere that is gently caressing your skin.

Then I would go to sleep at night, and make it drizzle above my head because I love the sound of rain and how it drowns me in tranquility. And maybe I would dream about you if I want to, have a different name for you, and create the most perfect, most romantic atmosphere for us. Maybe we’d be driving to the beach to feel the full moon radiating in our lungs so we can breathe deeper and learn to let go of what bothers us and suddenly hear our heartbeats in the sky because we are as whole as the universe, or we’d be dancing on a theatre stage like astounding performers where you’d sweep me off my feet and I’d skip a beat because I’d feel it in my bones. Or we’d be casually walking down the street where there’s only a single street lamp on and the rest are asleep unlike the people at this time of the night in the era we traveled to. You’d be in a top hat and I’d be in a red, long-sleeved velvet dress. And I would make us look so beautiful together in a way that our magic is undeniable.

And I’d visit you in your dreams, I’d catch you when you slip and before you turn to see my face I would fade in mist and you’d be afraid that I am just a memory, vivid only when you look at the moon.

But here is what you don’t know:
It’s all in your head, not mine.


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