By M.F.
hi, you.
if my education has prepared me for anything at all, it would be our meeting. as a psychology major, i have come prepared. you see, i often wonder about you, and every so often, i apply my learnings to the day the universe would finally give me the chance to meet you.
so, psychology states that there are five stages of perception:
stimulation: my senses would try their best to adjust to your coming. i’ll see you, watch you come closer. i’ll hear your faint footsteps become louder and louder. and then, suddenly, the smell of fresh laundry—with a slight tinge of lavender, maybe. i would taste nothing except the few sips of alcohol i had taken. the only things i would possibly be feeling are the hand wrapped safely around my drink and the heart about to burst from my chest.
organization: my brain would attempt—and fail—to organize every piece of you.
interpretation-evaluation: something would click. we’ll begin to talk and laugh. after some time, i’ll check my watch—3am. my want to stay and my need to go would battle each other restlessly. i suppose it would be a battle of dualisms, but it’ll be one that ends in a draw, as your eyes would’ve somehow found themselves in the middle ground between the once polarities.
memory: those few hours would turn into days and then months, as my interpretations-evaluations will have found peace in the knowing and familiarity of your skin and your scent and your touch.
recall: i believe i would look back on it, recalling and accessing the information i had stored and you had left behind. i’d begin to blame the power of perception and question the study that left me with parts of you. i’d blame the senses that had imprinted fragments of your voice and touch. i would blame every cell in charge, those that kept you. i would wait in torment for the day when every cell in my body would finally replace what you left, aching through the seven years it would take to completely rid your touch.
but maybe, if we would ever be so lucky, my perception would end with memory.
here’s to the day we meet.
love, me.
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