‘…even if our love story doesn’t work out.’ I read the line over and over. When my eyes looked away from the phone, it seemed dusk had spread quickly. The evening sky was now a beautiful hue of red and orange. The palm trees stood majestically against the backdrop. I let out a long sigh, my breath morphing with the warm, humid air. I didn’t even know when love had entered our friendship. I didn’t know our little game had become so sacred that it had a name.
I sit back on the bench and watch other couples roaming the park. Did I want that? Did I want to become part of another person and dispose of all my freedom? It’s the affection we long for and the affection we lack. Just as this evening had become warm and inviting, the persuasive temperament of our relationship and the subtlety of our communication had become a reason to hang on. He had begun to run through my mind as if he belonged there. I tried hard to shake off the annoying reminders that he even existed in such a manner.
Yes, I had played hard to get, not because I found some pleasure in it, but because I was scared. I was scared to step into the unknown and lose control. I knew myself very well. I would become an emotional wreck.
The moon slides through the clouds, appearing from nowhere, illuminating the sky, and as my eyes set on it, I am reminded of the glances and the mystical vibrations that drew us together. We began our story from the moment we collided, like planets from different galaxies. Isn’t that how feelings give birth? We had conversations with the silence between us. No one is ever ready, are they? I tell myself this is madness; I’m not ready.
I never get tired of warm weather; it’s the sensation of being comfortable, and just like that, I got used to the depth of a connection. It was easy, warm, simple, and organic. We never expected, I liked that. But when we would pick up again, it was wholesome. I get up and stroll past the manicured hedges. The rows of neatly planted flowers and the carefully curated landscape that pleases the eye. Everything looks a little different at dusk. The filters forbid us from seeing the true picture.
When reality sets in, this elation may fade. Nobody wants that: to lose the exhilaration of something that gave you bliss and made you feel so lovingly welcome. Somewhere, somehow, it does fade. In the beginning, we ask about dreams, intentions, wants, and needs. We please. Slowly, we forget what the answers were; we forget to keep asking those same questions, because life happens. The responsibilities take over, other duties take priority, and pleasing eventually becomes a chore.
I pull out my phone again and continue to read, “I’ll always be your friend…” Someone’s word is better than a promise. Promises are meant to be broken, and if I let you into my world, then I won’t be able to take the hurt of a broken promise. Why would you make me question your loyalty?
I see a few darker clouds join the scene. Soon, the colors will begin to run. It will all come to an end. I remember I left my umbrella on the bench and turn around. When I see it still lying there, I smile, a small relief; I need it. Like me, it waits; it’s ready to be opened and shelter when needed. That is what I wanted: someone to make me feel safe and needed. The truth is, I got tired of waiting and weary of being forgotten. I waited and waited, and finally it did begin to rain, then harder, and I was left stranded; no one came to rescue me, and perhaps no one ever will.
It’s better this way, that our love story never worked out. I never got hurt, and I don’t have it in me to hurt the one I love. As I make my way to the park exit. I glance once more at my phone and read again. I look up at the painted sky. It matched perfectly with my thoughts this evening. I head towards the enormous iron gates, waiting to free me from these thoughts. I’ll hold on to pieces of you that made me feel warm and safe. I’ll hold on to the memories, just like this beautiful evening. Even if our love story never works out, you too will always have this friend.
