Anthony Sayasane

Do you remember when we were sitting on the couch together, and I kept trying to tell you the story of those two spirits?

One had lived for so long that he had seen God. With his own two eyes—no bullshit. And he had sworn himself to a life of divinity, of believing he was getting closer to heaven. He was stubborn, like you, and lived in his head. He thought of himself as a river that led to the heavens. The other spirit I had really liked. He hadn’t been alive for as long as the other, but he had already seen so much pain. Took the suffering inside himself, like a well. He had seen it dealt to those around him and had carried a great amount of suffering himself. Still, through his pain, he opened himself to love. Remained open to loving and being loved. 

  “Like an angel,” you said when I described this to you. 

  And I smiled warmly and said, “I think they were both angels.” 

The younger spirit, in his grief of holding so much suffering, had pledged himself to a life of desire. He chose to forego guilt, shame, and rationality. In his mind, he believed it to be a truth of the world that each man existed for himself and himself alone. He would promise to shape the world with his own desire. 

It was after this pledge that the two spirits had met one another. They met between heaven and earth, they just didn’t realize that one was on his way down while the other was on his way up. 

“They probably saw themselves in one another,” I said to you as we lay together. 

“They had wings, probably. One was hoping his wings would be cleansed on his way to heaven, and the other hoped his wings would tear when he hit the earth.”

“But in that moment, they both had wings, right?” you asked as you pulled me closer onto your chest. 

 I nodded and looked up at you, and we exchanged smiles. 

They probably felt familiar to each other, as if they had known each other forever already. They fell in love, naturally. But they were both misguided. The younger, intent on chasing desire, figured there was no harm in this affair before his final fall to the earth, and in turn figured this must be the elder’s last sin before ascending. The elder, though, wrongly believed the younger to be a fellow traveler to the heavens. He took him by the hand, and they flew upwards. 

You made a concerned noise. “Did the one with desire tell the other that he didn’t have any interest in heaven?” 

I was silent for a moment, staring at your chest. “Maybe he thought he could learn to desire heaven too?” 

“I think he should’ve said something.” 

I bit my lip. 

It wasn’t long into their casual affair when the younger’s focus on desire became clear, and the older had witnessed how much pain the younger chose to hold within his heart, with no intention of seeing heaven any time soon. He let go of his hand immediately, questioning why the younger couldn’t find his same devotion to heaven, why he had to live by desire. Their short-lived love had come to its edge: it was clear they could no longer journey together anymore.

“He tried, I’m sure he did.” I said, huffing. “I’m sure he wished that devotion would find him as easy as desire had.”

You looked up at the ceiling, unmoving. “It doesn’t work like that.” 

The two spirits sat there in the sky, so close to heaven but unable to realize it due to their arguing. It would be their first and only argument. 

The sad part? The older one couldn’t bear the thought of travelling to heaven without his love. But the younger one had understood heaven was his love’s desire and understood there was no way for him to have both him and heaven. 

“So, he declared he’d never see the older one again,” I explained. 

“That’s fucked.” 

I glanced up at you. “You think so? He was respecting his lover’s desire to see heaven.” 

“But that doesn’t make any sort of sense. How are you going to turn away after you had already come that far?” 

“You can’t change someone’s desire, as much as you love them.” 

You turned to me immediately. “No wonder you like him, he just does whatever he wants.”

I sat upright. “Have you thought about how it’s not what he wants?” I turned fully to face you. “He was ready to give up his desire, his love, because he understood what devotion meant. His desire was now to see that through.” 

You shook your head. “I just don’t get why he didn’t tell him what he wanted…. How’s the story end?” 

But there was no ending, really. Maybe the older got to heaven, or maybe he was so blind in his devotion that he failed to see he’d be flying forever, never to find heaven. And on earth, maybe the younger crashed down, never to fly again, and only then understood what devotion meant. Cruelly, maybe he would desire divinity only when it became out of his reach. 

If I could finish the story, I’d include that he didn’t lose his wings when he landed. He had every ability to see his lost love again, should he desire. 

But he had learned a lesson every young spirit learns with time: it will only be if it is meant to. He still waits to one day possibly see his lover, if it’s even possible anymore. Maybe it’ll be the day heaven crashes down and everything goes to shit. Maybe it’ll be the day desire no longer serves him, and he devotes himself entirely to divinity, with dirty wings and hands covered in the muck of the earth he so desperately crashed towards. 

“Either way it ends, if they see each other again, it will be because they were meant to.”

But by the time I had gotten to the ending, you had already gotten off the couch. You were quiet for a while before saying, “They didn’t even get a proper goodbye.”

But, River, I never was good at goodbyes, and look at us now: waiting for heaven to crash into the earth. It’s been centuries now since I last saw you, and I’m still here. On earth, with nothing but my desire. And you know what the funniest part of this all is? I know that you know we’ll both be happier, in time. With you in heaven and me on earth, where we both feel like we belong. 

I’m not trying to break your heart but nothing about you and me is going to work right now. So, please, join me in continuing to wait for your stupid heaven to fall from the sky. The same way I know you’re waiting for the earth to launch its wretched self into the heavens.

How impossible we are. We couldn’t fight destiny.