The Universe of Us

  Also by Lang Leav

  Love & Misadventure

  Lullabies

  Memories

  The Universe of Us

  copyright © 2016 by Lang Leav. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of reprints in the context of reviews.

  Andrews McMeel Publishing

  a division of Andrews McMeel Universal

  1130 Walnut Street, Kansas City, Missouri 64106

  www.andrewsmcmeel.com

  ISBN: 978-1-4494-8447-7

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2016941971

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  For Michael, my universe.

  Introduction

  Magic tumbled from her pretty lips and when she spoke the language of the universe—the stars sighed in unison.

  —Michael Faudet

  I believe we think more deeply about the universe when we’re falling in love. I think the mysterious pull that draws you to another person is identical to the one that moves our eyes upward to the stars.

  The Universe of Us is my fourth book. As a child, I always loved the romance of the night sky. While writing this new body of work, I revisited that sense of wonder and fascination that I have held as far back as I can remember. The sentiment can be best described as a mixture of nostalgia and longing.

  In many ways, a book is, in itself, a tiny universe. Each page is like a newly formed galaxy, fashioned from a single, pulsing thought. A book travels for days, for years, sometimes for centuries to meet you at an exact point in time.

  I hope you enjoy The Universe of Us as much as I have enjoyed putting it together. I like to think it has found you for a reason, even if that reason is only to draw your eyes skyward once more.

  Much love,

  Lang

  We drift from star to star,

  your soul and mine

  as one.

  We fall nearer to the moon—

  we fly closer to the sun.

  How We Began

  It was how we began. Your mouth against mine, your fingers tracing along the back of my neck.

  You asked me to imagine what it must have been like, for the first two people who fell in love; before the word love was conceived.

  You said it felt like that for you. Like we existed in a time before love—as though we were waiting for the word to catch up to the feeling.

  What I Would Tell You

  To you, love was about multitudes.

  To me, love was inordinate.

  I love you, I would say.

  How much? you would ask.

  I couldn’t find the words to answer you then. But they have found their way to me since. And this is what I would tell you.

  I would blanket the world in utter darkness; I would pull back the veil of light and reveal to you a blinding crescendo of stars.

  I would drain all the seven seas and ask you to count—one by one—every grain of sand that clings to the ocean floor.

  I would tally the beat of every human heart that has echoed since the dawn of our becoming.

  And as you look in awe at the sheer magnitude of my admission, I would take your hand in mine and tell you; if only you had let me, this is how much I could have loved you.

  Distance

  It was all I wanted for the longest time—to open my eyes and see you there. To stretch out my hand and touch the soft, yielding warmth of your skin. But now I have learned the secret of distance. Now I know being close to you was never about the proximity.

  I Loved Him

  I loved how his eyes danced merrily,

  and the gentle way he spoke;

  the way he filled my aimless days,

  with bitterness and hope.

  I loved him as I fell to sleep,

  and each morning as I woke;

  I loved him with all my wayward heart—

  until the day it broke.

  First Snow

  I fell in love on the third kiss, the first snow, the last slow dance. Ask me what day we met and I can only smile and shake my head. It could have been a Tuesday or the death anniversary of a beloved monarch and I wouldn’t have a clue. Our love story comes to me in waves, in movie stills and long summer afternoons spent under a sky of incessant blue. I still think of your eyes in flashes of color, your hands in a frenetic, feverish blur—your smile a mosaic of light and shadow. I still find myself lost in those moments of abstraction.

  A Postcard

  To the man I love, to my future.

  The first time I felt your presence, I began joining the dots in the sky, wondering when our stars would align.

  I often think of where you are and if you’re happy. Are you in love? I hope she is gentle. I know you and I are the same in that way—we bruise a little more easily than most. You see, our souls were made in the same breath.

  I know I’m running late—I’m sorry. Things haven’t worked out the way I planned. But believe me when I tell you I am on my way.

  Until then, think of me, dream of me and I will do the same. One day I will learn your name, and I will write it somewhere on this page. And we will realize that we have known each other all along.

  Recognition

  I’ve never met you before, but I recognize this feeling.

  Someone Like You

  Do you think there is the possibility of you and I? In this lifetime, is that too much to hope for? There is something so delicate about this time, so fragile. And if nothing ever comes of it, at least I have known this feeling, this wonderful sense of optimism. It is something I can always keep close to me—to draw from in my darkest hour like a ray of unspent sunshine. No matter what happens next, I will always be glad to know there is someone like you in the world.

  To Know Him

  If you want to know his heart, pay close attention to what angers him.

  If you want to know his mind, listen for the words that linger in his silence.

  If you want to know his soul, look at where his eyes are when you catch him smiling.

  Your Life

  You’ve wandered off too far,

  you’ve forgotten who you are;

  you’ve let down the ones you love,

  you’ve given up too much.

  You once made a deal with time,

  but it’s slipping by too fast;

  you can’t borrow from the future,

  to make up for the past.

  You forsake all that you hold dear,

  for a dream that is not your own;

  you would rather live a lie—

  than live your life alone.

  I Am

  He said loving me was like seeing the ocean for the first time. Watching the waves crash senselessly against the rocks, over and over. Grabbing fistfuls of s
and as it trickled through his fingers, like my hair, brittle as ebony, strong and taut like the bumps of his knuckles. He said it was like swallowing his first mouthful of the sea—the sudden shock of betrayal.

  He said loving me was like panning for gold. Sifting through arsenic, waist-deep in toil. Lured by the shimmer and promise of transcendence, like the river between my lips, a floodgate that opens for him—only when I choose.

  And I told him, if I am so hard to love, then let me run wild. My love is not a testament to my surrender. I will show you just how much I love you, with the inward draw of every breath—the collective sigh of the world and all its despair. But I will never give you what you want in chains.

  Choose Love

  My mother once said to me there are two kinds of men you’ll meet. The first will give you the life you want and the second will give you the love you desire. If you’re one of the lucky few, you will find both in the one person. But if you ever find yourself having to choose between the two, then always choose love.

  Today

  Today I am not in my skin. My body cannot contain me. I am spilling out and over, like a rogue wave on the shore. Today I can’t keep myself from feeling like I don’t have a friend in the world. And no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to pick myself up off the floor. My demons are lying in wait, they are grinning in the shadows, their polished fangs glinting, knowing today, it will be an easy kill. But tomorrow, tomorrow could be different, and that is what keeps me going today.

  The Butterfly Effect

  Close your eyes and think about that boy. Tell me how he makes you feel. Let your mind trace over his tired shoulders. Allow your thoughts to linger on that beautiful smile. Take a deep breath and try to put those dark thoughts aside. For once let go of the reins you’ve wrapped so tightly around your heart. I know you are scared. Who could blame you? Love is a hurricane wrapped inside a chrysalis. And you are a girl walking into the storm.

  Impossibility

  Do you know the feeling when you’re so happy that you can’t imagine ever being sad again? Or when you’re so sad that you no longer believe you could ever be happy? When you tell me you love me, I always think of that strange emotion—that feeling of impossibility. You say you love me, and you can’t imagine a future without me in it, yet all I can think of is how you must have felt the same way once about someone else.

  Shooting Stars

  I want to light a spark tonight, without striking up a memory of you. Please don’t send me shooting stars when my mind is a loaded pistol.

  Procession

  He used to ask me all the time if I was okay. As though he never knew for sure. He would ask me when he was tired or frustrated or when he felt helpless. He would ask me when he was afraid.

  He asked me that same question, long after we stopped being lovers—when we became something less yet somehow more. Are you okay? He would whisper on the phone late at night, when his girlfriend was asleep or had gone to her mother’s for the weekend. Are you okay?

  He hasn’t asked me in years, but I know he still thinks it. I know the question still reverberates in his mind like a broken record and he will keep looking for answers long after there is nothing left to appease him.

  It was always the same question, over and over again. Like the start of a procession. And it took me years to recognize the unsaid words that marched silently behind.

  Are you okay; because I love you.

  Are you okay; because I need you.

  Are you okay; because I don’t know how to live without you.

  The Longest Good-bye

  The longest good-bye is always the hardest. Love for the sake of love is the most painful of all protraction.

  Moments

  That’s the tragedy of growing up—knowing you’ll run out of feeling something new for the first time. The sad thing is you only get so many of those moments—a handful if you’re lucky—and then you spend the rest of your life turning them over in your head.

  I think that’s why you meant as much to me as you did, why I held on for so long. I didn’t know it back then, but you were the last time I would ever feel anything new.

  Moment of Truth

  One day I looked at you and it occurred to me how beautiful your smile was. I heard music in your laughter—I saw poetry in your words. You asked me why I had that look on my face, as though a shadow had fallen across its sun-drenched landscape, heavy with premonition, dark with revelation. The second I tried to tell myself I wasn’t in love was the moment I realized I was.

  Still

  We may not be in love anymore, but you’re still the only one who knows me.

  Conversations

  “Most people want to save the entire world. It’s a lovely thought, and I’m not saying it’s not a noble pursuit—but it’s impossible to save everyone. You just have to pick your little corner of the world and focus your energy there. That’s the only way you will ever make a difference.”

  “But I don’t know if I can make a difference. It feels like I am screaming at the top of my lungs, but no one can hear me. No one cares. How can I change anything if I’m completely powerless?”

  “You may be powerless now, but there will be a time when you won’t be. Don’t you see? And that’s the time for you to be loud, to tell the world about the changes you want to see, to set them in motion.”

  The Last Time

  When was the last time you said I love you and meant it. When was the last time you heard those words back.

  When was the last time you felt like someone knew you and not the person you’ve been pretending to be. When was the last time you felt like yourself.

  When was the last time you heard someone say his name. When was the last time it killed you to hear it.

  When was the last time you felt love well up in you like a newly struck spring. Like an outpouring of the soul.

  When was the last time he called you beautiful. When was the first.

  A Lesson

  There is a girl who smiles all the time,

  to show the world that she is fine.

  A boy who surrounds himself with friends,

  wishes that his life would end.

  For those that say they never knew—

  the saddest leave the least of clues.

  Sahara

  And the weather was so damn sick of being predictable; I heard it began snowing in the Sahara and I wanted to tell you that I’ve changed.

  Aftermath

  I want to talk about the aftermath of love,

  not the honeymoon or the hitherto;

  but the upshot and the convalescence,

  the slow, hard hauling—the heavy tow.

  I want to tell you about those evenings,

  that crept inside like a vagrant cat;

  and cast around its drawn out shadow,

  untoward—insufferably black.

  I want to write about the mornings,

  the sterility of the stark, cold light;

  struck against a pair of bare shoulders,

  the lurid whisper of a misspent night.

  I want to convey the afternoon setting,

  the water torture of the sink;

  drip by drip, the clock and its ticking,

  and too much time left now to think.

  Crossroads

  It was a quiet love, a tacit love. It came without prelude or preamble. We never said the word love—we didn’t have to. It was in our laughter, in the sense of wonder we found in each other. And if we had doubts then, time has told us otherwise.

  It was a gentle love, a tactile love. It was all hands and lips and hearts in tandem. There was motion in our bodies and emotion in our discourse. We were a symphony of melody and melancholy. When you find peace in another’s presence, there is no mistaking.

  It was a kind love, a selfless
love. I was a dreamer, and you were a traveler. We met at the crossroads. I saw love in your smile, and I recognized it for the first time in my life. But you had a plane to catch, and I was already home.

  Possibility of Love

  Yes, I think it is entirely possible to fall in love with someone you’ve never met. Physicality is an expression of intimacy—not an indication of it.

  Dark Matter

  If you know love like I know love when it is full and ready—like the pulse knows the tip of the blade before the cut—the blood rushing to greet its serrated edge. You would know love like I have if you have seen the sun in every possible gradation of light; if you can hear the birdsong beyond the rudimentary call—if you can distinguish between each cadence as it quivers through the air. If you get so cold sometimes that it burns or the heat gets so bad your teeth start to chatter—then you will open up your arms and take this dark thing into the fold and you will know love like I know love.

  For the World

  I talk to you all the time, even if you can’t hear me. I tell you constantly, over and over, how much I miss you and that for me, nothing has changed. I think about the days when we could say anything to each other. My heart is like a time capsule—it keeps safe the memory of you. I know it’s harder with you gone than if you had never been here at all—but I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.