If you are loved by someone, you have a dual life. You are living here in flesh and blood and bones inside your home waiting for the microwave to beep in 2 minutes, but you are also living and breathing in another life where your lover has given birth to you. In his world, you are swimming in wild seas, running after fireflies, roasting a swordfish for dinner, and sleeping to the rumblings of his window curtains.
If you are loved by someone, you live in the museum of their hopes and desires, in their journals and scribbles, in the songs they sing in the shower, in the five-year plan of their lives, in the castle at the abandoned streets of their life, in the dead of the afternoon nap, and in the sleepless nights, you float around like a fairy flapping your wings of desire.
If you are loved by someone, your life is painted by someone else in an easel of boyish hope. You wear silks and chiffons and your cheeks are blushed pink. They make you dance to the chimes of the church bell and the tune of the radio jingle. In your house, in the other life of yours, you are neatly folding away the laundry of the previous week while fretting over what to have for dinner. The fridge only has a few eggs and some leftover rice. Leftover laundry and leftover rice.
If you are loved by someone, you are an art installation in the middle of a busy public square. People stop and look at you, they want to know more about you, they want to know the artist — your lover. He has bled his hands to bruises and swollen his eyes in sleeplessness to create the best version of you and has proudly displayed it for others to admire. You are a work of art at the hands of your lover. He is proud of you. Now, when you are in your other life walking across an art installation stop for a minute and think about the life your lover has created for you.
If you are loved by some, you live. You are immortal.
