Stepping from the plane, each foot finding solid ground, again, after many hours flying through the sky, I exhale and start the slow walk. It’s been hours, days, weeks, months and, unfortunately, a few years, since I last saw your beautiful face. We’d met, years previous, in an old French corner café. Melodic music played, across the street, we caught each other’s eye and the rest’s history.
“Violins”, you’d stated, “Were your favourite instrument”, playing the perfect chord, amongst other thoughts expressed, on the day where we’d tried to impress each other with stories of life, love, loss and more. She had such beautiful eyes, not to mention her fabulous legs that seemed to be on show. Above all, no matter how she looked, it was her voice and words that grasped at my sanity.
They say that it only takes but a moment to feel connected, to share something more than a passing glance, which, in this case, seemed ever so true. We’d exchanged the usual contact details, connected through the digital age, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Whatsapp, plus a couple more. None of those mattered as they could hardly ever compare to actually being with her.
We’d walked, while talking, until we reached a beautiful garden, the Paris Gardens, if I recall. I was cheeky, in those days, brave, filled with such brawn and swagger, a man that knew what he wanted and would never be backwards in moving forwards. We held hands and, even, managed to sneak a small little kiss.
Reaching a flurry of roses, we’d closed eyes, feeling the rose petals against our fingertips and possibly soul. In the blink of an eye, the moment ended and we returned to our normal lives. Tragic, a sudden ending to a story that had hardly even begun. I’d often wonder what, where, how and if, if anything, what would have happened. Work, life, the requirements that trap you firmly to a certain point in time, kept us apart until now.
It’s strange, maybe even poetic, but I would often look through the few photos of that day, recalling, reminiscing, but the main photo was of the Café. Just the café. A place, a moment, minutes later, where we actually met. Sure, of course, I could see many photos on social media but I’ve longed to actually return to the place, to re-ignite that moment, firing off the usual stoic stance before the emotion takes over.
It’s not really about the past, or the future. I can always close my eyes, look back, feel, but that will never compare to living right there, in that second, the emotion in real time. If you’re not feeling, if you’re not aware that you’re alive, then a shallow existence awaits us all. I need to feel. I need to embrace. I, more than ever, realise that time is a luxury, afforded to each of us, until it ends and leaves us floating into the void.
Stepping from the plane, each heavy foot finding solid ground, again, after many hours flying through my mind, I smile and start the quickened walk. It’s been far too long, with too many days, even years, between this place and you. We’d met, years previous, in an old French corner café. Your melody escaped me after that day, where we’d caught each other’s imagination and, today, we’re going to create new moments of history.