The Lover's Dialouge

A Screenplay by PeterTrust

A short story about letting go of love

The Lovers’ Dialogue

My lover looks into my eyes. My heart skips a beat. I know hers does too, I can see it in her eyes.

I think to myself; it is a lovely day. Not because of the Orange Sun’s reflection on the lake or because the tree we are seated under has purple flowers that have made a bed of roses underneath our feet; or because the Park bench we are seated on is known as the “Lovers seat”; or because lovers from as long as time have engraved their love on the Park trees around us…No. I don’t see any of that.

I see my lover. I see her seated close to me; looking into my eyes; laughing at a joke that I know isn’t that funny. I see a connection; God forbid I die now; I can’t say what she will do.

She stops laughing. Her smile slowly fades. It becomes quiet…

She is now looking into my eyes; deeper than ever. I can feel she is sad. Now I’m sad.

She looks at my lips. I move closer to her. Close enough that I can feel her sensual breath on my chin. Close enough to kiss her. But I don’t. She doesn’t barge. She closes her eyes then moves back.

Tears roll down her cheeks. She whispers something; I don’t hear it. But we are Lovers I can feel her; I know what she is saying. It rushes through my heart; then to my brain.

I whisper a thought aloud;“why?”

She looks away at the couple holding hands walking the path. They have a rhythm about their movement. I can tell they are lovers. I can feel their hearts beat at the same pace; their breath at the same rate and their feet seem the follow the same path…

We once were like them. We made love passionately. We got lost in each other’s minds. Our friends thought we were made for each other. We knew we were.

Our different pasts seemed not to stop us; but now I know that was fantasy. Our past had come kicking at the door; hunting and haunting us like it was a scene in a gothic horror movie.

She stands up. I hold her hand hoping she would stop. She holds my hand back. Maybe she won’t go I think. Maybe she shouldn’t run. Maybe I can make her past disappear. Maybe….No!

I cannot do anything this time. What is done is done. I’m just a fool stuck in the bubble of love that has just burst open. They say; sometimes letting go of a person means you are strong. I slowly let her hand slip. My heart skips a beat. I can feel it; the rhythm my lover’s heart and I had built together distorts.

Perhaps that is what being heartbroken feels like.

She starts walking away from me for the last time. She walks along that path were we first walked hand in hand. The path we kissed for the first time. The same path our “love marked tree” dug her roots. She walks past it not even stopping for a last glance.

She walks past my sight; but I still look hoping to get one last glance. Hoping I will see her running back to me; hoping that she will see the mistake in this scene. My heart saddens at the thought of the fantasy.

I look at the lake. I hadn’t noticed the sun had faded or that the sky was now grey and cloudy. I see a storm coming from afar. It’s almost poetic; like it is meant for me; a lover with a broken heart.

I decide I am going to sit there on that park bench and wait for that storm. A storm built just for me. I am going to feel its wrath on my face and body. I am going to let the lightening light the soul of a lost lover and the thunders scare away the dark. I am going to let myself get numb with the storm’s cold hand. I am going to feel the pain of a broken heart.

When the storm passes, I will be on that park bench; with a mended heart; with a soul that faced a storm and came out spotless.

Then; I am going to watch the orange sun rise again.