We’re swarming in romance. A twist in our boring conversations; the lonely crowded traffic we indulge ourselves in. Days are blossoming everywhere we look. Ours is a secret – a secret only the night learns to remember. We cherish love; we jump into the pools of uncertainty and ecstasy. We fall in love because we’re rugged and we know it. What other voids are we trying to fill?
Do you remember how we met? We were stranded somewhere in the city. We were beautifully rugged. Heaven knew what we had been through. You just had a four-day road trip from the East on your old motorcycle. I was fucked by my schedule that day. We agreed to meet for a quick lunch because you and I both had somewhere else to be later in the afternoon.
It was a blind date. When we finally met, it was a very awkward situation for both of us. You were obviously nervous and I was too. Our conversations were impossible. How could we have a conversation when all we did was staring at each other over untouched pasta and coffees that were cooling off already? I managed to say one-two things; about my study, my work. I tried to sound smart, as usual. I didn’t know if it made any impressions to you. You mentioned about what you were doing in my country, your profession as a photographer, your love for your old and broken motorcycle, the road trips you both took around the island. Not a single moment did you avert your eyes when you were talking to me. You asked me about how it makes me feel when I’m being stared at. I said I’m comfortable with it; it’s something I always do anyway. You let out a smile, one I couldn’t get over. I wished we hadn’t had to go. I would call in sick, I would cancel my class; I just wanted to be there sitting across your general direction talking about bullshit. I took three pictures of you with your camera. You were nervous.
I remember your eyes were the color of sunflowers. I made sure I said it before we parted.
I wished to see you again.
You asked me to go out and grab some beers that very evening. I couldn’t hide my excitement. It took me an hour to decide what to wear and what to say when we met. I sang along the road. I met you in front of the restaurant earlier today. You were a stranger to the city. I thought I could ride with you on your back seat. I would love that. So you followed me back to my place where I returned my bike and rode with you.
We had a good conversation. We talked about things we found interesting. We talked about beauty. We had time. You were holding my hand in yours. We had the night to ourselves. We headed back to my place; I sneaked you in. I had to have you.
We made love. We made love. We made love. That very moment I realized you were one I wouldn’t want to let go. That night I decided you’re the one I would keep. But you left early in the morning. You had to. I might have let you go too easily.
And then we met again. And then we had to go again. And we met again. And now you had to go again. I’m tired. I’m exhausted. Mine is an old soul. My heart is of rotting sweets and the blood it pumps in my veins is darker and colder than the nightfall. I want to cling on love, the love I want, the one that leaves a sweet aftertaste even years afterwards. I already imagined our days together. Not much to think of actually. Everything happened so fast it didn’t give me time to contemplate. We had beautiful days and evenings together. I had your head on my lap all the time. I craved for that again; for feeling your warm body up against mine in your embrace. I had you and now I refuse to let go. We will have more evenings watching the sun sets on beaches somewhere only we know. You’ll fall asleep on my lap again. I will ask you, “Are we there yet?” for the billionth time.
This time you’ll answer, “We’re here.” We’re finally here and we won’t need to search again.