Sometimes I find myself wondering about you and the chance we never had. It was the tail end of the summer and we were both new to the city. I found comfort in your experienced insight and you found comfort in my full of life personality. I was a broken-hearted, 22-year-old, looking for life, looking for reason. Out, trying to find myself after a recent break up. You were a 32-year-old, living life through the Coast Guard. We’d caught the same ferry and my friend found her seat next to you. Which in turn, I followed. You were wearing that sweatshirt that you swore was blue. It was in fact, purple. We were quick to absorb into each other.
We’d spent the cool summer nights, laying in your bed, letting the light-less, brisk air from the window cover our motionless bodies. And there was nothing in sight. My wounds, still as fresh as the day I left home. And the glue still wet. We both knew, there was no love there. I was just as much a stranger to myself, as I was to you. And we both grasped at the loneliness the big city handed us. But I let your delicate mind take me whole, and once I let you in, you lived in my bones. I was intrigued on every level. And I fell in love with every word you spoke. It wasn’t a love that they write about in books, it’s not even a love I can begin to explain. Your words were the stitching that began to piece me back together. And I held on to them, for dear life.
Your voice, warm and soft. You’d tell me stories of places I’d never been to, places I’d never go. You would tell me about life, and how much it changes with age, and how much it doesn’t. You kept me from self-destruction, and from my emotions completely hollowing me out. You had an aire about you that made me feel safe. And hours would creep by, until my eyes grew to heavy, and I was asleep, wrapped in the comfort of a night well spent.
Some nights were harder than others, and you always remained patient with me, holding the broken pieces of my heart. I had hoped the newness of the city, the miles of distance I had placed between home and I, would mend me. But that was never the case. And you knew that better than I ever would.
You had a plan for your future, one that I could not fall in line with. And when our days began to become fewer and father between, we both knew our time was running out. The last bit of sand was slipping through the hour-glass, and I began missing you before you had even left. And by the summer’s end, you had found someone who shared in the same plan as you and I knew I had to let you go.
There are times, where a breeze hits the right temperature, and I’m brought right back to the thought of you. And those days, I wish I had met you at another time. Perhaps at an older age, a time when I understand the world a little better. But I am grateful for the way the universe aligned, and allowed me to cross your path at that time. It didn’t seem like much in the moment. But I look back at it now, and how ever short that period we’d spent together, you played a very significant role into the person I am today and how my heart healed. You taught me about life, and how it goes on. And that it doesn’t stop for anyone, so we mustn’t stop either. You helped me survive the end of one chapter, so I could begin the next. You helped me find the calm in the chaos of what was in me. You lit my lantern and pointed me to the right path, so I could continue on to find myself.