Only Skydivers Know Why Birds Sing

Twelve midnight.

Thirty minutes ago Tovs sent me a frantic text message, asking for a love quote. I tore my focus away from the Hermione/Severus romance fanfic I've been devouring to ask myself in exasperation of why, WHY one of my closest friends would actually think I still gave a damn about silly, little love quotes. ("Don't you mean, why you'd still give a damn about love?" my conscience needled in the wheezy tone I've come to despise)

But reality check. Tovs knew me well enough to realize I've been a self-declared, and critically-acclaimed, cynic for a long time. I also knew that he's working round-the-clock on freelance video projects. Hmmm. He must need the quote for one of those goddamned videos. Or surprise, surprise maybe he's finally fallen in love with someone and is working up the guts to spill his feelings. The thought of the ever-so-proper and and genteel Tovs prostrate on one knee, flower in hand, and spouting love quotes made me chortle and choke on my cigarette. Hmpphft. Maybe not.

I must be going mental, I thought, taking a swig of my latest vodka concoction. Very well, I countered, I'm sure he has his urgent reasons for asking me. And if these quotes are going to help him finish his goddamned videos so that he can take his bloody rest, then I may as well help him out. I minimized the Hermione/Severus fanfic (damn!) and opened a new window. Hmmmm. Google, google, type in q-u-o-t-a-t-i-o-n-s.....there. I was about to type a keyword (love) on the search field when my fingers froze, my thoughts hurtling.

How hypocritical of me. Of course I knew the perfect love quote. Why, I've memorized it, all these years, whispering it in my most lucid, hopeful dreams as if it was a mantra. You see, my cynicism of this topic was not borne out of indifference but the all too cliched heartbreak. And the only reason I have never wretched (and mark my words, I HAVE wanted to) over this commonplace component is because I believe that despicable as the concept may be, it makes humans out of us all. You may have all the Manolo Blahniks and iPods of the world but we are all the same in the eyes of dear, old, knock-my-socks-sarcastic, manipulative Fate.

I've fallen in love twice in this lifetime. The second time was painful. Exceedingly painful. With a short summary spanning the period of many, many years:

I loved him, thought he loved me, got uncertain, tried to move on, became his close friend, found out his secrets, settled to being friends, tried to move on, then spent the night with him, got no emotional response, tried to move on, finally learned he also had feelings, got scared, re-examined myself, finally started to open my mouth to declare my undying love, in which case he opened his first and declared his involvement with someone else, I tried to move on and

Gave up. Just gave up on everything.

I exhale some smoke from my lungs. I didn't know I've held my breath while thinking about these things. What the hell.

I'm done with you, I address him in my mind. I AM done with you.

"Still, why not this quote, for old times' sake?" I sneered at his memory.

Extending my arm back, I grabbed my mobile phone and relived the quote that has haunted me for a thousand years.

"It is sometimes a mistake to climb;
it is always a mistake never even to make the attempt.
But is it that bad to fail, that hard to fall?
Sometimes the fall kills you.
And sometimes when you fall, you fly."
-Neil Gaiman

I pressed Tovs' number and sent the bloody quote.

I pinched the bridge of my nose, leaned back and puffed away, blowing circles. He was always so profound, even as he recited the quote to me when we were so very, very, young, amidst the falling leaves and the circling, swirling cirrus clouds. I thought then that I was too insecure to fly, but I knew how to burn. That golden day, he could have damned me to hell and I would've burned in his presence, turning to ashes at his feet, the wind blowing me away miserably. But that would still be flying. I still could have flown.

If only you had given me any extreme emotion. I could settle for disdain if not love.

But not indifference. There is no life in that chasm. You couldn't even say there's a void significant enough to be called a void.

My phone's beeping snapped me back to my smirking reality. Tovs' reply:

"Wish I can relate. But I've never been there. Only skydivers know why birds sing."

I gave a harsh a laugh. Just exactly where is "there?"

My mind flashes back to a trip we took to the Spanish Inquisition ruins last Christmas. I was lazily sprawled on a bamboo table in a cottage near the seashore, glass of vodka in hand (of course) and chatting idly with Hervie, one of the gays in our circle.

Hervie is a downright kind soul but is known for his impeccable and impenetrable emotional demeanor. Of course, a romantic place such as the ruins invites a conversation dealing with romance-centered topics, the lack thereof, or the past. I was feeling quite melancholic and didn't need much prodding from him. I slugged my drink back and gave him the quickie summary, ending with "...of course I'm glad to be rid of the whole thing. During the worst nights I just wanted to die."

Hervie, in typical Hervie fashion, was silent for about fifteen minutes. Then he surprised me with a comment. "I wonder what that feels like," he asked, more to himself. "Someday, I wish I'd have the luxury of knowing what it would feel like to actually feel the want of dying for the love of someone."

And I ponder his words tonight.
No one would ever want their friends to be hurt,

(..it is always a mistake never even to make the....)

but I can hardly tell them not to fall in love. After all, I did.

(...is it that bad to fail....)

I cannot protect them from pain. Because

(...and when you fall....)

it is the risk we take to last long enough to see beyond the clouds.

(..and when you fall...)

And snatch the chance to live the life of someone truly alive.

(...you fly.)

But Tovs, calculate. Calculate. Calculate.
How much falling before the dizzying, euphoric heights turn into dark abyss?

----------------------------


I light up another cig. Pour another glass. No rest for the weary, damn right. Only endless puffs and tinkling ice cubes bathed by moonlight. Thank the heavens for the wonders of the vices. Perchance my heart will not rest tonight, but maybe some of my thoughts will. But maybe....

I raise my glass to the moon in silent salute. (Here's to looking at you, kid.)

...maybe I can take a break from playing bloody Ice Queen. Just for tonight, I can indulge in inhaling and exhaling the same air he breathes. Tonight , I can --wait, is this Pablo Neruda richocheting around my head?!?

Saddest lines indeed. Sad can't even begin to describe it.

My phone bleeps. Low battery. I turn it off. I don't think Tovs will be sending me anymore messages tonight. His last message was pretty heavy, especially for the lighthearted banterings and jovial moods of our set. Perhaps he is also pondering things because of the bloody quote and his reply to it. Maybe not. I hope for the latter. There is no rest for the weary, Tovs.



But I did fall. I really did.
But I never got to fly.


And what birds?



There were no birds, Tovs.
So how can they sing?