When Past Lovers Script a Second Chapter
What happens when you see your past right in front of you after decades? Will the Spark of Love Still Ignite, or Has it Evolved?
A story of Everly and John.
Everly’s perspective:
It was Sunday, the kind of day that invited me to indulge in what I loved most. My craving for cheesecake led me to the local bakery not quite far from the vegetable market where I wanted to get some broccoli for dinner. The aroma of pastries lingered in the air from afar. Despite the protest of my 50-year-old knees, I quickened my pace, to get that bite. It felt like a busy day in the street. Footsteps rushing back and forth, animated conversations, and the rustling of paper bags filled with eateries. And in the middle of it all, something surreal happen. I saw a figure quite far but not too far out of sight; it was John.
My john. The ruby that I gave up. The one and only. I could feel his presence, even with my eyes closed. I knew him more than he ever knew himself. It had been 30 years but I wrote him into my memory.
Who else could make me stop on my way to the cheesecake and wonder?
Who else could make my heart skip a beat?
Every step I took from this point was filled with so many emotions flooding inside me. Every step raised new unknown questions in my mind but also gave me the answers that were always in his eyes.
Does he remember me as vividly as I remember him?
Would the years have dulled the connection we once shared?
I looked into his face, every detail, as I could recall from the memories; nothing quite changed except for the weathered flesh from the passage of time.
The scent of his cologne reached me before his flesh. That familiar fragrance, his signature perfume, maybe common, but the heat of his body makes it uniquely his. For a moment, I transported to a time when we were together. The world blurred away as our eyes locked. I am confident now; he recognized me, a shared history. I can see his lips uttering something, but my senses are all lost. Those lips that had once uttered sweet good mornings and the hardest goodbyes. He was uttering my name.
“Everly,” he called, the syllables hanging in the air like a fragile promise. Tears rolled down my eyes without a second thought. The rolling tears carried all the regret that I had. All the times I wished I called him, and I didn’t. All the times I shut my door closed. All the times he tried to reach me, and I ran away. All the times I was afraid of losing him, yet I gave him up. He generously swept away the tears from my eyes. That touch, his hands as warm as they could be, I didn’t want it to leave my face. I curled into his hands and looked up at him. He wanted me to say something; he wanted me to call his name. My mouth was shut. I could only show him how I felt.
He took his hands off me. “Stay,” I said. He gazed at me with teary eyes. “I missed you,” I said with all my heart and this time without thinking of the consequences it may come with. Coz I don’t care anymore. I am so unsure of the boundaries that separate us. But I am sure of my feelings for him.
John’s perspective:
Sundays are the bane of my existence — a day dedicated to meal prepping for the entire week, tackling heaps of laundry, and every chore imaginable, with the exception of taking a break The streets are alive with people engrossed in the rhythm of their lives. Mrs. Smutch, the grocery seller, looking lovely as ever, generously added an extra loaf of bread to my bag. That would make my day! I smirked at her and bid bye. While heading home, a sudden impulse made me to glance back. I had left my purse behind. I turned to return to the grocery store, until something struck me to my knees.
Her.
The woman of my dreams. Or am I dreaming?
But I see her moving closer towards me. Definitely never dreamt so vividly. But that was my little pie right there. The one that got away.
I could feel the weight of the years melt away as she came closer. She recognizes me. Her restless gaze with unspoken words and emotions seems to be begging to be set free.
Memories flooded in, flashbacks of how she was my life. My weakness and my strength. One who broke me into pieces and taught me how to cry.
I called out to her because I didn’t want to lose her again. I wanted her to know that I remember her. She can be confused and hard on herself, but I called her name so she knows it’s okay to come closer. I understand her more than she understands herself.
She was quiet. Her emotions ran too deep and I have learnt to feel them. Sweeping away the tears rolling down her eyes I wished I could tell her that everything is okay. But was it?
All the things we went through, the broken promises, the hurt, it was all not okay.
I was lost for words. How do I reciprocate these feelings? There was never a closure.
She never spoke her feelings. And I am tired of reading her.
After all these years, I am here again, trying to figure things out. For what? For what it’s worth? I can’t hope for the hopeless. This connection was never meant to be. And I know this will go nowhere, and we are back to how it ended. She hasn’t changed. I took my hands off her.
Until I melted when she softly whispered in my ears to stay. I was heartbroken again. Those words I longed for my entire life. Those words that could make me rise above the coffin. That could make me give her all the world. She never fails to make me cry, sometimes with happiness and sometimes with sadness. We knew we longed for each other. It was a dance of closeness and distance, a balance between the familiarity of the past and the uncertainty of the present. Our bodies moved closer.
As they figure out the unknown layers of love that had withstood the test of time — a love that now stood on the face of what could have been and what might still be. The next part is coming soon…
