There a man sitting at dinner with a woman. Nothing unusual on the surface. She looks alluring and he looks like most men…meaning nowhere near as alluring as she has presented herself. Tucked along a wall in a quaint little place. The world passes them by as they share a few moments of a never ending eternity in an undefined expanse that even the most brilliant of men can not quite comprehend. The story itself is as old as time,. In fact the story far predates time. It is our nature; as humans that is. There is something chemical, instinctive, simple, and utterly natural about the setting of a man and woman together. Stop for a moment and think about it. How many times have you seen a couple sitting together? Over a meal, on the bus, waiting for the train. Or walking; perhaps not saying anything at all. It is such a common sight that to calculate the frequency would be nearly as impossible as comprehending the size of the universe. It was not so much the words yet but her eyes. He already knew.
Think of the infinite parade of couples. Are they friends, lovers, spouses, family, or any of a thousand other combinations? Do you think about them when you see them? Wonder what the circumstances are? In this particular configuration they were more than friends but not quite lovers. You see his boundaries are inconsequential but his respect for others limits stated or presumed was and remains unyielding. A strange principal I’ll give you that my dear friends.
Well as he sat there and pondered where it all would lead. Though one passing by would have never guessed. At the end you have to read between the lines. The truth is always between the lines of what is said and not said. She does not belong to him and nor does he belong to her. She wears adornments of possession unrelated to him and he is a walking symbol of the things that possess him. One an obvious display to all who see it and care to notice the other a subtle statement only for those who know what they are looking for. Which is which is for you to decide dear reader. One was a possession one of another living soul, the other owned by the world. Both are without a doubt about power. She sips her wine and he eyes her cautiously. The conversation flows naturally and without conflict but not devoid of tension. They linger and chat before meandering the halls and streets back toward the things that are their routine and chosen paths. We all do that don’t we?
Things always reach what is their logical conclusion but he would steal a few more hours of her companionship. Did anyone really know him better? It seemed unlikely. What was unspoken is often more telling than what is said. They watched the world from a distance. Voyeurs on a perch watching and wondering and in fact it was quite lovely. Time passed and comfortable silence would at some points ensue. She was beautiful and interesting in ways most are not. As Chaucer wrote “time waits for no man”. They headed towards the inevitable. A tempest had taken hold outside as she walked towards the car, he followed suit, the wind cold and cutting, the night starless and rain pounding away at the stone facade. Those damnable cold wet drops ran down his face.
Sometime later it happened. What he already knew occurred. It is the tragic moment poets lament. That volumes cannot do justice. Yet it is better to have had something wonderful, special and unique than to have never have shared those moments.
He held her in their embrace, a little closer and a little longer than usual. When he kissed her cheek with the cold rain on his skin, the cold of a winter night dancing across his body somehow in his heart knew it was to be their last. He already knew it was goodbye. Though he hoped against it.
So with this now behind him perhaps those monsters in his head will be at least slightly muted. And as is to be expected when one story ends others always begin. So have no fear he’s lurking in the shadows, swimming in the darkness and like all good evil things will never be far away waiting to be wicked. In fact that may be more true than many of you know. Not that it makes him miss her any less.
So to her… only the best and all of his love.
So now for the reading between the lines,He loved her in his own unique way.The words though were never said. More harm than good would have been done.Enough damage had already occurred,So those words went unspoken. Her and others happiness mattered more.He had kept his word. And none of that makes him miss her any less.