There he is, so handsome in his dark suit and white dress shirt. Even the sun celebrates our reunion as she bounces off the skyscrapers and dances teasingly on the rim of his glasses.
“Julia!” He calls to me.
I love the way he says my name. It sounds so eloquent and romantic, adorned in his educated accented European-ness.
I go to him and climb into his open arms.
My hands slide beneath his suit and pull him close. My face finds that place where his neck and shoulder meet, and nestles there. His shirt is crisp, cool, and fresh. I like its starchy white formality. His muscles tighten beneath my hands. I like that, too.
We stand still in our embrace. I could stay this way forever and live a lifetime with my face buried in the safety of his shirt.
Passion, like hunger, will subside if you ignore it long enough. Things go silent. I thought them departed, but they were only dormant.
Now he is igniting me; like starting a car . . . or a fire.
Through closed eyes the moments come, overwhelming me, reminding me . . . of all the wanting, of all the empty nights, and the eternal missing hours.
“Uhhh . . . I forgot how good this feels” I whisper.
He pulls me closer.
“I’m so glad I forgot”, I whimper, “It would have been excruciating”.
Remembering that this is just a visit and our time limited, a feeling of dread washes over me as a new thought comes. I say nothing and quietly fight the tears . . .
“Now, I will have to forget all over again.”