He looked at her eyes. She shyly averted his gaze. He said softly, so what do you think of what I just said. She kept looking down at the ground, blushing, and breathing hard. Finally, she said, I don't know, I am confused, I am not sure, I need to go home now. Sure, he said, I'll escort you home.
So that was how it happened. He remembered the scene. It never left his mind. It has stayed on after all these years, after the war, after the divorces, after all the recurrent dreams, simply because it was so beautiful a scene, despite all the mistakes he has made, all the relationships he has gone through. Yes, he no longer loves her. He would not come over and say hello if he happens to run into her, but memories about her have a way to live on. Everything he does now, every effort he makes to improve himself, gets its impetus from her, from the pains, the sorrows brought on by her betrayal after a wonderful three-year odyssey of first love, at least on his part. Love is short. Memory is forever.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment