Our hands barely brushed, but a spike of electricity jolted through me. I looked at him, wondering if he felt the surge too. His face was impassive. Blank stone. He was a stranger whose path crossed mine, yet I knew I would never be the same. I loved him, yet I knew nothing about him. His name was unknown – just a mix of consonants and vowels I would never hear uttered. But his eyes glittered in the street lamps, and I wondered what it’d be like to wake up with dawn breaking across his body. From his lips, my name.
Words tumbled forth from her lips, executed as though without grace, but the further her speech went, the more we all realized the same thing. Her mind was more than a simple cherry blossom; it was an orchard of original thought. Though she was plain to look at, the lyrical quality of her words astounded us. She was destined to be a poet – metaphors meted out like a guillotine sentencing. Her posture was peculiar. Eyes? Lackluster. She did not appear like other women, but perhaps, she merely belonged to another time. An anachronism. Somehow, despite it, she broke my heart.
If nostalgia is a disease, he’s terminal. His mind floats back to the way things were. He remembers the lullaby of her love, the scent of her hair, the taste of her kiss. He couldn’t spend eternity with his eyes straining to look in the rearview mirror. Eventually, someone has to tell him that you cannot move forward by simply gazing at vintage photographs and rereading the letters of long ago. Her voice is a song that even his fading memories will not erase. He remembers kissing in the rain, hands tangled in her hair. “Forever,” she had whispered. Forever.
“Enjoy this because this is it,” you said, squeezing my hand. I never took it seriously. Live each day as though it were your last. Your words were cliché. My depression could cause my life to slip between my fingers, but I was forever a part of an unchangeable universe. Then, I started to relax. Ease into what existed around me. Sing along to the car radio. Your words had etched into my breath. Your words were hackneyed until we had to bury you six feet under, until they were all I had, then they clung to me like spiderwebs.