This place reminds me of you, the green trees creating a canopy that seems to cover the skies…rays of sunshine illuminating these streets of suburbia, I often dreamed that were I an artist I would paint this picture of streets that roll and eventually rise on this koppie, I would paint a picture of you and that conversation that remains in my memory, etched like an artist’s coal with varying degrees of dark and light strokes that perpetually create depth as if to somehow bring that moment to life, to perhaps wretch it from the past, a ghost of a memory, to the present.
Maybe that’s why this place will always remind me of you, a daily commute to the scene of the crime, my only crime being the fear of confrontation of you. Your smile that lingered on your lips the first time we kissed, when we sat beneath the stars and we talked of dreams, of fairies and vampires and books and what we wanted from this thing that in our innocence we understood as life. On the roof of your parents’ house we smoked a joint and watched the sun come up, you in my arms as the sun began its gradual ascent and even then I knew I would never forget this moment. The birth of a new day as you told me of the moments between when one wakes up and the last moments before dreams consume us, that those moments are infinite in their possibility and that you wouldn’t want to close your eyes, turn off the light and begin another day because all we have is now. You took my head between you’re your hands, and kissed me on the forehead and thanked me, never loosing eye contact, for shining a new light on your previous misconceptions, for making you feel alive and for the most part whole.
Perhaps it is not this place that reminds me of you, just me reminding myself of a simpler time, when your smile could make my day, and a walk holding your hand was more than enough to inspire me. I remember that day when I asked you out and you said yes, in that coffee shop your legs tucked under you, sitting on the chair with the aroma of caffeine in the air. You said yes and as we walked home, I asked you if I could hold your hand, and you took my hand in yours. I told you how weird it felt to want something for so long and then eventually have it, literally, in your hand and you said it felt right and with those words I was lost in how profound and spontaneous a connection can happen.
It most probably is true, no matter where I go those memories follow me so perhaps this place just bring back those memories because logically this is where we happened. But then if it is this place then it is you eternally etched in my mind, possibly why when I dream of you, though not often I awake dazed and in a bad mood for the rest of the day. A sign to confront you? To explain why I did what I did or to ponder in the trepidation that overshadows that maybe it didn’t mean as much to you and after all these years would it be worth it to bring back those memories, to remind myself of why I ran, of the anger in your voice when I called to explain. Only later did I understand that anger in your voice, it was because you did care and I hurt you, so I turned and ran for cover, away from this place but truth is I have tried to run but we both know I can never forget.
I know years have passed but that feeling has never left me, after all emotions are a chemical/electrical reaction communicated from mind to heart. I have to believe that it’s never too late.