“I love you.”
Those were her last three words to you. An ingenious literary trope for: “It’s over, goodbye.” And with that, you’re supposed to close the chapter on six long years. No guilt. No pain. No regrets. No looking back... especially no looking back. Get her out of your head and out of your life. Move on. You’ve got to move on. Don’t think about her. It’s just a bleeding waste of time. No, that’s for losers. And you’re not a loser. Just get on with your life. How hard can it be? Just don’t think about her.
Don’t think about how you met her for the first time. You were seated at the piano with her brother in their home when she walked in the door with her then boyfriend. Your eyes met. And she smiled. And she laughed and told you how she thought you were a girl ‘cause of your tousled mane and “girly” features. And you smiled sheepishly.
Don’t think about the night you sat by the river as she leaned on your shoulder and cried about breaking up with her boyfriend. How you hugged her and told her everything would be alright. And how it hurt to see her walk away without telling her how you really felt.
Don’t think about your first date. How you surprised her with a trishaw ride through town. How she giggled like a schoolgirl as she held on tightly to your arm as she tried in vain to ignore the wild stares from passers-by.
Don’t think about the night the circus came to town and amidst clowns and costumed performers you both blithely sipped wine and nibbled on popcorn. Or the night at Mariah Carey’s concert where at the end of the last song the confetti canon rained down glitter and it looked like a thousand stars were falling... and you kissed.
Don’t think about the first night you made love. You awoke to find that you had been holding hands all through the night – even as you slept! Don’t think about the noisy “squirrel” kisses you shared as she crinkled her nose and whispered: “Woof you, Rummybear.”
Don’t think about how warm and soft her body felt as you snuggled up against her in bed with only the soft glow emanating from the tv casting playful flickering shadows on the wall, silent but watchful. And how late at night you would sometimes softly serenade her to sleep.
Don’t think about the songs. Savage Garden. Nat King Cole. England Dan and John Ford Coley. Cliff Richard. Don’t think about going to the movies with her. Every Monday night. 9.30pm, final screening.
Don’t think about the day she surprised you with a collector’s edition Superman doll on your birthday! And you cried ‘cause you knew she had saved for months knowing you would never spend so much on yourself and she wanted to make your birthday special.
Don't think about the time you spent talking about everything and nothing, strolling languidly down gold incandescent streets, all but empty in the wee hours. There was no one else in the world. Your head clouded by a giddy rush of neurons, pheromones and adrenalin. Then in a moment of sheer impetuosity, she grabs your hand, pushes you in a cab and you ride all the way to the beach where she drags you into the water - fully clothed! Later as you lie on the beach, you catch her gazing into your eyes and you ask her what's on her mind. She whispers: "Now I know what our children's eyes will look like." And you hug her and never let her go. And right there you knew she was the one.
Don't think about the time you spent talking about everything and nothing, strolling languidly down gold incandescent streets, all but empty in the wee hours. There was no one else in the world. Your head clouded by a giddy rush of neurons, pheromones and adrenalin. Then in a moment of sheer impetuosity, she grabs your hand, pushes you in a cab and you ride all the way to the beach where she drags you into the water - fully clothed! Later as you lie on the beach, you catch her gazing into your eyes and you ask her what's on her mind. She whispers: "Now I know what our children's eyes will look like." And you hug her and never let her go. And right there you knew she was the one.
Don’t think about her scent. The intoxicating caress of lotion, soap and perfume. The way she got ready to go out fussing in front of the mirror. Deciding between her beige cotton sundress that showed off her tanned skin or her well-worn pair of maroon slacks . But for those special occasions always picking her favourite sequined piece she had custom tailored in Bangkok. She was oh so proud of that outfit.
Don’t think about the promises you made. The dreams you shared. A life you both wanted. But could never have. Nevermind the reason. Nevermind the blame.
Now after all these years a gulf as wide as infinity stretches between you and her. You stumble down a path that forks and divides to choices and lives and realities that tears you farther away from her. You exist separate, alone, drifting...
She’s out there somewhere and perhaps one day with a gentle nudge from the angels of serendipity she will find her way to this page... where she will find the words you never got to say:
“I love you.”© 2011 Blackcherry Media/ Ramesh Kula
