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.