Just about everywhere, nowhere in particular,
other than where you were found to be.”
An answer to my response,
an inquiry
–I had given and in return. This is what I distinctly remember
hearing as she looked at me rather inquisitively, as if
what she had heard was entirely
unexpected,
regarding the manner in which I interrupted her daily walk. I
wanting to know what points of interest may
have sparked my attention,
having just arrived afterward I felt badly realising what I had
done, considering myself as an interruption, an intruder,
intruding on her person
while
she was out taking a leisurely walk. I had made a vain attempt
at inquiring about other individuals nearby, each one of them
seemingly too engrossed within themselves
to notice,
leaving no one else, except her… She smiled, momentarily
and quite unexpectedly, inquiring if I was alone and in
need of further company, while continuing to
remark
there was a coffee shop nearby, and would I mind sharing a
Danish?
—-A mere facsimile of she, and yet, the resemblance brings
back so many memories. Should I have recognized
the facial recognition twice
described as not perfectly matched… Still, it had left quite an
impression, and an indelible mark I will never be
able to erase. I find
it tragic, her disappearance; I should not have momentarily
turned away. It all seems so trivial. All of which
transpired at that defining
moment.
Oft-times I prayed it remained forgotten, the remembrances
clinging to the darkest of hours. And for it to have
revealed itself in the manner in which
it always
had, I find it unforgivable. We were brought together by an
event affecting all people, but affecting us in an
unspeakable manner. I am thinking
I am done with it.
I am not happy, not anymore, perhaps than at the beginning,
after surviving all of which we had. People change,
I’ve changed subtly, at first, even more
so now.
—And I am surprised you had not noticed it. An Impenetrable
silence filled the room as she made her entrance. One,
whose appearance drew everyone’s eye
momentarily toward her.
A frail and pale, leaving the impression of having recently
wept. Her peering eyes as she unsteadily walked within
the near-darkened room, resting her hand on
a patron’s table as if wanting
to regain her balance and composure, leaving those nearby
with more to wonder as her footsteps carried her to
a secluded corner of the room. The soften
glow of candlelight.
–The flame barely flickering revealing tracings of her tears on
her porcelain facade touched with a whisper of rouge,
whole she sat gingerly.
A scarlet red coloring, the singular rose awaiting her, a glass
of pink Chardonnay, her lips, leaving a smudge on its rim
as she casually took a sip.
Soft music, she, listening quite intently, taking her back to
another moment of time…
Her hand rested on his shoulder. His arm held around her
waist, swaying to the music, dancing cheek to cheek.
A faint whisper of a smile, another tear
leaving
a trace upon her porcelain cheeks, she, having breathed in
another long-lost memory.
About James Sterling
James began writing at 13, and he has published about 12500 pages of poetry on Facebook! He retired from work at the age of 62.
James is proud to share that he never edits what he has written, which is the beauty of his writing!!
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