One Day

You hardly remember exactly why. The purpose has since been lost, or perhaps, never really there. It was just impulse. It was one day when you contacted him. It was that one day when you felt compelled to find him; a nostalgic pull for old familiarity. You remember that day. It was warm. It was comforting. It was a feeling missed for so long that its presences was strangely absorbed with great care and appreciation. 

It wasn’t in the city that your first met that you met again. It wasn’t even the city where you second met. It was just the city you both loved and the restaurant you both knew; a place you both knew how to get to.

The walls were glass, exposing a clear sky and warm rays of a setting sun. The table sat under a simple stream of light with a simple white cloth covering its simple bare top. There were little imperfections on the cloth: a moist circle stain from a sweating glass, crumbs from an enjoyable meal, and hands of two lost in pleasant conversation.

His eyes are not what you remember yet are so familiar they might as well be. His stories and tales transcend the low hum of others and remind you of what you used to do together. Your stories are equally as enjoyable to him. He smiles and laughs. He leans forward hoping you’ll continue and you do, if only to perpetuate the night’s feel. 

Then he stops. There is a pause. He smiles and you don’t know why. You look at him closer and recognize it more as you study his smirking lips. It is a memory. So he asks:

“Do you remember…?”

Of course you do. You never forgot a thing. You remember when you did this and when you did that. You remember how you felt during each action you took with his presence close by. You remember because the person you are has been missing its compliment since you parted. But now that you are here; now that he is here, you can be hole again, if only for a time; if only for yourself.

It is his friendship you love. It is his heart you cherish. It is him, whom you have missed for so very long. And it is now that you remember and now that you enjoy everything as if the past was present again and the world existed in infinite bliss. It is as if the lights that stream to your table wrapped your body as a tangible joy and you stay and soak, never wishing for either you or him or the evening to leave.

Your life has gone on. Your life has moved and still moves, as does his. That is what the conversation proves. You are not there to see whose life is faster and ahead. You are there to see where his life has taken him, as he is there to see where your life has taken you. But there is a side to this that is not easily seen; a shadow where the light cannot shine and you feel you are the only one who knows its true figure.

There is another pause but there is no smile, only a glare. You open your mouth to continue and just as the breath of words begins to escape they are pushed back by his.

“Don’t worry. I already know.” He says with a steady hand and calm voice. You breath out after holding it in. You smile but say nothing. He looks at you and you know what it was and what it is. You remember what it was all that time ago and you know what it is now and need no more speech nor tale nor great dialogue to explain it. You only need another drink and another hour.

There is a simple light, shining on a simple table, with a simple cloth. The only imperfection exists in the movement of two hands lost in pleasant conversation. One day, the truth will be revealed. One day, the truth will be confirmed. One day, you will be done.