He reminded her so much of a candle she’d long extinguished. His brilliant mind, his quick, brilliant mind.. oh, how it brought back memories! Memories of her love, her husband, of his smooth words and steadfast embraces. Memories of contraband whiskey, of tipsily dancing and leaning further into his embrace as he spun her. His grin was true, and each rotation brought that smile closer. Her heart fluttered at the very thought of it.
But this was years ago, and he was long gone. She’d been there, in the end, to hold his hand. They’d lived a beautiful life together, an exciting life, though she couldn’t help but feel robbed. Beautiful as their time was… it just hadn’t been enough. He’d told her once that he had a theory—people like him weren’t made to live long lives. They lived fully and greedily, consuming all of live, devouring it. What was it that he said? She cursed herself, for the words eluded her. She was no old woman, mind you—her mind was sharp. But the words slipped away, just out of grasp— a lost memory.
She looked down at the ring on her left finger; it had been years, but she would never remove it. The ache of a lost love would always be there, but now.. when she looked at the ring, she was reminded of the inside jokes, of conning the world, running, living beyond their means. They had a wonderful life, but God, how she missed him.
And maybe she just really wanted to go dancing again.
She sat there in the dark, let out a sigh, and straightened her shoulders in a dignified way. She rose and made her way to the window to lose herself in the hustle and bustle of the city.
He waltzed in, the delicate shuffle of his shoes on the wood echoing in the hallway.
His voice called out to her
She turned to face him, a delicate smile on her face.
“Over here, darling.”
He looked at her and saw—the two of them always saw, always had such an understanding. He reminded her so much of her love in that moment. Her eyes burned, and she fought to keep his gaze, to not look away. To look away would provide instant relief, but looking into those brilliant eyes of his… it was a drug within itself. And the pain of looking away wasn’t something she could take.
She’d never had children, but she imagined her child would be just like him. But no, he was so much more than that. He was the portal to a world she'd left behind, a world that had dissipated when her husband died. He was as much a part of her as the ring on her left finger. He was a friend, a kindred spirit, what she needed, and in exchange, she provided stability that he'd never known. He was a dance, a slow dance, a burning candle, a white-hot flame.
But this was years ago, and he was long gone. She’d been there, in the end, to hold his hand. They’d lived a beautiful life together, an exciting life, though she couldn’t help but feel robbed. Beautiful as their time was… it just hadn’t been enough. He’d told her once that he had a theory—people like him weren’t made to live long lives. They lived fully and greedily, consuming all of live, devouring it. What was it that he said? She cursed herself, for the words eluded her. She was no old woman, mind you—her mind was sharp. But the words slipped away, just out of grasp— a lost memory.
She looked down at the ring on her left finger; it had been years, but she would never remove it. The ache of a lost love would always be there, but now.. when she looked at the ring, she was reminded of the inside jokes, of conning the world, running, living beyond their means. They had a wonderful life, but God, how she missed him.
And maybe she just really wanted to go dancing again.
She sat there in the dark, let out a sigh, and straightened her shoulders in a dignified way. She rose and made her way to the window to lose herself in the hustle and bustle of the city.
He waltzed in, the delicate shuffle of his shoes on the wood echoing in the hallway.
His voice called out to her
She turned to face him, a delicate smile on her face.
“Over here, darling.”
He looked at her and saw—the two of them always saw, always had such an understanding. He reminded her so much of her love in that moment. Her eyes burned, and she fought to keep his gaze, to not look away. To look away would provide instant relief, but looking into those brilliant eyes of his… it was a drug within itself. And the pain of looking away wasn’t something she could take.
She’d never had children, but she imagined her child would be just like him. But no, he was so much more than that. He was the portal to a world she'd left behind, a world that had dissipated when her husband died. He was as much a part of her as the ring on her left finger. He was a friend, a kindred spirit, what she needed, and in exchange, she provided stability that he'd never known. He was a dance, a slow dance, a burning candle, a white-hot flame.
He took a step toward her.
“May I?” he asked, extending his hand. She smiled.
There’s no music, she almost said. Instead she gently rest her head on his shoulder, and the two of them swayed to the music of the city, of the cars. If he felt the tears on his shoulder, he didn’t say anything. He just held her closer.
I just found my way over here from your other blog, and this is truly lovely. Very heartfelt, and peppered with little phrases that I want to remember and learn from for my own writing.
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