Once upon another time, in another life, I held the hand of the one I love.
But that was once upon another time – and in another life. The empty passenger seat beside me is a reminder of how different the days of my existence have become. It’s not exactly empty, on it is a stack of books I’m reading and Moleskines filled with thoughts and illustrations – all of the past.
Once upon another time, in another life, I stared at the face of the one I love.
I’d be out of words, with nothing to say, and I’d just stare. I’d kick myself for not listing down more topics to talk about on the palm of my hand or the yellow Post-Its I use everywhere. So I’d just stare, a failure at being interesting, with a million things flying through my head.
Once upon another time, in another life, I kissed the love of my life one last time. I kissed her by the elevator, in the dimly lit hall. We kissed like our lives depended on our lips touching. We kissed hoping it would last forever, but somehow knowing, and fearing, it was our last.
Sometimes the seat beside me is taken. On it sits a beautiful lady, more beautiful than the one I love. On other days others sit, beautiful ladies, most more beautiful than the one I love. Sometimes I find myself enamored, by eyes that don’t belong to her. And even sometimes my lips find a kiss, but not from her lips that touch eternity. It’s crazy how we think that more can make up for the one that was lost. As if the fingers of a hundred hands would knot the same way. As if dipping in different colored pools of black, brown, blue, gray, and green eyes would be the same as sinking into the gaze of someone special. As if we’d find, from a million kisses put together, from fuller lips, our favorite flavor.