Mental Myopia

He had been at the airport the moment her plane landed. He had seen her coming out of the gate. Her familiar walk. The way her legs took her to any destination she’d desired, it hadn’t changed. She wore the same outfit as the day she’d left. As if she’d never been away.
Her hair had become longer, he noted. He followed her on her way out. He halted the second after she had stopped, watched how she looked for something in her purse, saw how she grabbed her cell phone. At the same time he got overwhelmed by fear, hope and trust. He remembered how the finger that dialled a number was no different from the finger that had touched his chest. She loved drawing hearts on his chest, every time they had hugged and she’d heard his heart pounding.

Something vibrated against his leg.
He aborted a sigh of relief.
This was a scenario he’d thought of. If and when she called him, he didn’t want her to hear his mobile ringing, so he’d muted the sound.
He took the phone out of his pocket and answered it.
‘It’s me!’
‘Hey, honey. Are you back?’
‘Yes, I’m still at the airport. Where are you?’
‘Oh, I’m just standing a few paces behind you.’
She instantly turned around and saw him standing there. She ran towards him, they kissed, they hugged.
‘I missed you.’
‘I missed you too.’
‘I missed you more.’
While they hugged for what seemed like minutes, he never kept his eye from her luggage.
He couldn’t hold a smile.
She was drawing a heart on his back.

* * *

The moment she’d seen him, she knew she had to do it.
She wasn’t one to take action, but some moments just have their ways to notify you. I AM IT, THIS MOMENT, NOW!
The second she saw him, she saw who he was. Who he had been. How he would be in a few years. Things might change, people might change. He wouldn’t. Because he never did.
He might look soft. He even is soft. But there was something about him that made her realise there was more than softness. A dangerous side. Not necessarily in a bad way. Intriguing. A complex man whose layers were obvious to the willing eye.
This was the moment. This was the person.
This was the moment she found something in herself, she’d never known was there.

* * *

The hill had something magical. The first time they’d been there, they promised each other they would return on a special day. This day was special enough.
They held each other as they were sitting in the grass. They were happy to be together again. Paradise regained. Underneath all their happiness laid a few questions, so futile they didn’t want to be asked. Questions that hadn’t been asked because the answer was all too known. Questions that had been asked of notions which wanted to be questioned again. Did you miss me? Do you love me? What did you do when I was gone? Did you mean it when you said you missed me? Did you mean it when you said you loved me? Were you counting the days till today? The minutes? The seconds? Do you love me? Did you miss me as much as I missed you? Do you know how much I missed you? Do you know how much I love you? Do you love me?

* * *

‘Who are you?’
‘I’m the girl of your dreams.’
‘Oh, really? How come I don’t remember you then?’
‘I was talking about the dream you’ll have tonight.’

* * *

She might have returned, but she’d also been gone. It was as if something had gone with her, but never came back. He had the unstoppable urge to hold her body. Apart from a gazillion cells that had died and been replaced, the body was still the same. This was the same body as the body he’d fucked an hour ago, which was no different from the body he’d seen naked so many times. Her voice still made him think of a warm beach, her eyes were still as impetuous as they’d always been. This was still the same girl.
And even though nothing was different, something had changed.

As noone said a word, they listened to the sounds of nature. They held hands while memories whispered forgotten pasts back into their minds.
‘Do you remember?’
‘Now I do.’

Her hand supporting on his shoulder, she stood up.
‘Would you like me to dance for you? You always liked it when I danced.’
She danced. He watched and recognized the music her hips made. This was their song, the moment she’d dared to tell him she was the girl of whom he’d dream that night.
She never asked if he did. He guessed she just knew.
Just as she knew he would recognize the song from the way her hips moved.
He did. But he missed the music.

He stopped the song by grabbing her legs and pulling her down. He took her head in his hands and led it to his lips. They kissed. As her hand found its way behind his zipper, his hand disappeared underneath her shirt.
Not much happened. If they could find this hill, anyone could.
It was he who broke the relentless mayhem in their heads by saying what both wanted to hear, but neither dared to say first. ‘I love you.’ A double triptych. Three words. Three meanings.
It meant: ‘I love you.’
It meant: ‘I love you, as much as I loved you before. But not as much as when I missed you. When you were gone and I spent the days thinking about you. Remembering the best moments we had so I wouldn’t miss you so much. That’s when I loved you most.’
It meant: ‘I still love you.’
They both knew it . They felt it in their throats at the same time their bodies touched. As they embraced each other, they wondered if it would matter. They decided time would be the judge of that. For now, they were together again. And even if they didn’t love each other anymore, they still loved each other.

(copyright: Kurtodrome, 2004 – also available on DeviantART)


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