Missing

The night air was warm. For a saturday night, the streets were surprisingly empty.

Dinner had been the usual – a bowl of pasta, hommade. They’d headed out for a drink as they were usually want to do. Sitting there, sipping beer, life washed over two souls. Two souls that had no intimation of what the future held. Two souls that hoped that life would take pity and make itself more bearable…

But for the moment, there was a drink to be had and an evening to be enjoyed. Her plain white dress was shy of the latest styles yet it did nothing to hide her curves. Quiet, tired eyes, her hair played in the occasional breeze, a pair of long legs streched under the table. Conversation lingered; neither could fool the other, the smiles did not reach the eyes.

Walking home, they bid their silent good-byes to times and memories, to tears and laughter, to cobbled streets and coffees. Each hoping the other wouldn’t notice the tears that threatened to spill over the rims of reddened eyes…

That night, they loved, held and slept with their eyes wide open lest tomorrow came ever too soon. Tomorrow, with its flights and its different destinies. Tomorrow with its endings. Tomorrow with its good-byes.

Good byes, which neither of them could say. It felt wrong. How do you bid good bye to yourself? But no, that is not them. That is red-roses-and-adolescent romance. This was not that. This was different. This was white hair and rocking chairs. This was dogs and farm houses. This was growing old together. So how did one say good bye to that?

Certainly not in words that were spoken. Tears would wash out all comprehension. A piece of paper. To say – what? No promises, no dreams, no hope. Just heartfelt, heart wrenching gratitude.

“I’ll miss you”… she said, in his ear, as the crowds milled around them.
“Not as much as I will miss you”… said his voice, pressed close to her neck, as he caressed her back one last time, letting her sob seep into him, holding on to the knowledge of the airport to keep his sanity…

 

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