The years had been good to her, very good. She was even more beautiful than I had remember
The years had been good to her, very good. She was even
more beautiful than I had remembered, but the voice had
changed. It seemed to have a softer more gentle quality to
it. And her manners were more self assured.
It had been more than twenty-two years since we had last
seen each other, and then under less than favorable
conditions. I still remember the provocative sway of her
hips as she hurriedly walked away from me, hurt and in tears.
We had been lovers. Not in the physical sense, but true
lovers; friends, companions, and confidants. Hours seem to
vanish when we were together, walking by the lake or riding
in the car listening to the radio and making plans for our
future. We shared a unity as of being bonded to each others
soul. When we held hands a warmth would radiate from her
hand to my heart. Young, yes. In love, yes. Foolish, yes;
but only me.
Fools can be any age, but I more so in my youth. Fear,
that had been the culprit. Fear of the unknown, fear of
responsibility. Fear stole my lover and replaced her with
lust. Robbing us of our love.
The seasons passed and we had gone our separate ways,
only the lyrics were different. She had found happiness with
another and I harbored the guilt of our demise, yes demise.
For "we" were dead and "she" and "I" were born.
A tree once hewn can not be grafted back into a viable
living organism. But a clever craftsman can transform that
dead tree into fine furniture, it's beauty fixed forever;
magnifying the beauty of the tree. A clever craftsman I was
not. So I left the tree to rot. Not because I did not
regret felling the tree, but for lack of the craftsman's
skill. But the tree prevailed the elements until a
craftsman came along who did indeed transform it into a
lovely piece of art.
As the years passed I often thought of her, us. Was she
happy, was she loved, did she ever think of me or had she
buried that portion of her life deep in the abyss of her mind
never to surface again? Would we have been happy? yes; would
we still be lovers? yes. Why had I pushed her away?
Love eluded me. Pain and sorrow were my lot; deserved,
yes. Success had come and gone. Motivation and desire had
also abandoned me.
Then she walked back into my life; her provocative hips
swaying more radiant and lovely than before. But why? Have
I not suffered enough?
My heart raced rampant when I saw her, a chill
tranversed my soul. But what use is this stirring of
emotions; the flicker of a love lost. It took all the
restraints of my will not to embrace her and feel the warmth
of her body. My voice was quivering as we spoke. Could she
hear my heart pounding in my chest? Did I look as faint as I
felt? The shivering was not from the cold, it was from fear;
the same fear that took her from me.
E-Mail Fredric L. Rice / The Skeptic Tank