That one time

I don’t know how it came about. It just did. One thing led to another. That kind of thing. The kind of thing that just happens, and when you talk about it, you want to say it was a coincidence, but no, that’s not the word you’re looking for. And since you don’t believe in any kind of fate or synchronicity crap, well, there are no other words and coincidence will have to do.

The time slowed down to a low, pulsing rhythm. It might have been The Stones. Or the wine. She kept on talking about death, and how it came about in her life. How it did not scare her anymore. Her hands flew in the air to emphasize, as it demanded, such a grand revelation. And while she talked, while she tried to convey all her beliefs in short bursts of words and silences, even though she wasn’t looking, she could see. She could feel his eyes, his understanding, his heart yearning for her love of life.

There is much to be said about the things we think we have to do, we think we need, and what actually needs to be done to be truly alive.

The wine had stained his lips and collected at the corners of his mouth. She imagined hers, tasting. Resting. Giving. His glasses were dirty and his eyes half closed and she wondered how come he could see so clearly. The night was almost over, and even though the proximity was choking her, they never ever let the distance leave them. The night was in fact over. No bridges crossed. No hands touched. A heart cried. The other, she’ll never know. Never again.

I don’t think anything could have been done differently. It just happened and then it never happened. Disappeared, like the wind blew it away while I left the door opened a little too long. And yet, it wasn’t my intent.

Like flames, like flames she threw herself at the possibilities. Like flames, they lived hard, fast and bright. All she had. And it burned.

Embers. I have to believe in embers. And my slow breath onto them.