Her

The beautiful morning sun shone through the panoramic window, warming my face and sending dancing dust motes across the table.

I sat on an old, plush and well-worn sofa, tired and frustrated. The high, intense and stressful evening had drained all energy from me, and I needed time to regain my balance. A large amount of time, if I was to be honest.

The sunlight – which earlier had made me feel uncomfortably hot in spite of the cool evening – now felt a little too cold, and I curled up into a ball in the co
I had enjoyed the evening, in spite of all the pain, the torture and the loss. The party was filled with all the candidates, people and friends who were bound to win this election, as they all said. I had it in my pocket, they said. I was the favourite, they said.

They lie, I thought. None of them are any better than me when it comes to courage. None of them are any better than me when it comes to a sense of duty. None of them would stay here at this party longer than they had to. These people left me alone the moment they had some alcohol and the slightest opportunity of a fling. The only ones who had remained loyal and supportive throughout the whole evening were the few confirmed losers, like me.

I closed my eyes, reliving the moment when I had been presented with my award. I remembered a woman with a gorgeous smile, and a dear friend of mine who had presented the award to me. I still remembered the applause, the astonished look of surprise on the faces of the other guests, the feeling of satisfaction as I smiled at the cameras and made my way up on stage.

And I remembered the most beautiful smile I had ever seen. The woman from the photo in the paper. The journalist. The same woman I had seen again this evening, ten years after that night.

I opened my eyes, and examined her. I looked down at the blue dress, letting it touch my dress lightly. I could see the outline of her legs, her thighs, her breasts, the twinkle she wore in her dark eyes. She is so lovely, I thought. I could see it in her smile, in her presence and in her eyes. She is the woman who had won my heart with her beauty, and I had long since lost myself in it. She is the woman I longed for all these years.

Although I didn't trust her, this was the only way. If I had loved her then, I knew I would still love her now. This was the only way.

But that's not the way, I thought. Why would she have changed her name? Why would she have divorced? Why would she have lied to me, to everyone? I am nothing compared to her now, I thought. I am nothing.

I wondered how she had changed during these ten years, but I wouldn't ask. I wouldn't ask her when we would meet again. I would simply wait. Waiting is not a bad thing.

She left the party alone and went out into the softly falling snow, thinking about the cold and the loneliness. She had no one. She had nobody at all.

She had nobody now.

She would have nobody in the end.

The soft, warm snowflakes tickled her face as she walked across the empty street.

But I do, I thought. I do have someone. I am not alone.

I would have someone again. I would have someone in the end.

I looked down at my dress. I had to wear it, because it was the only gift I had. It was the only consolation I had for this ‘loving couple’ who had stolen my man.

I remembered the way he used to kiss me when we had run away from the election. I remembered the way he would make me smile, the way he would look at me with that blank expression on his face. But I myself still haven't learned the art of saving feelings.

Then I had the most beautiful and tender laugh I had ever heard. I had this laugh right before I walked through the crowd of people and went out into the snow.

I stopped thinking about my ex-husband, the way he had looked at me or kissed me, or the expressions he had on his face – I had returned his feelings.

I now had someone. I had this snowfighter.

Somehow, I felt there was something I had to do. I was cold. I had to do something.

I was freezing, freezing from inside.

The snowflakes tickled my face, and I remembered the way he used to kiss me when we were young. He was the only man who made me feel so alive. I could still feel his smooth hands on my back, his moist lips on my neck, the tip of his tongue in my ear, his warm breath on my skin.

They would never get along. They would never be friends.

I thought of the passionate love I had lost, and the passionate love I was still longing for. I remembered the way they had sometimes fought, only to make up in the end. She would never be my friend like that. We would never be friends. We would never be enemies either.

I thought of the man I had loved, and how he had looked at me on that evening, ten years ago. I wanted to forget him, because he didn't love me anymore. I wanted to forget him, because I didn't love him anymore either. The last time we did lie to each other, he didn't say goodbye. I had.

I began to think about her. I remembered the way she had looked at him. I could see the love in her eyes, in her smile and in her heart. She was the only one who knew what love was. She was the only one who loved him like that.

She was the only one who had lied to him.

All they had was my love now. He would do anything to get me back. He would do anything.

I would run away into the sunset, I thought. I could never be part of his life again, never. I could never belong to him again. She was the only one I would ever belong to in the end.

I would go away with her. I would live with her, I thought. We would fight and make up and laugh and love each other. We could grow old together and laugh as I finally found my peace.

And one day, I would die.

Picture