May 10, 1994
The sweet smell of honeysuckle rested on an evening breeze outside the open window. Looking down the driveway to the street, in the dim glow of the footlights, I could almost see it. There was something dangerously familiar about it all. My head swam a little as I took a deep breath. For an instant, I was gone, in a time not quite forgotten.
You were there somehow, in the air that filled my lungs. I could hear the music, see the fireflies. A night summer sky and crickets crooning at the moon, beneath me the gentle motion of a porch swing, creaking. Then it was gone, all in one second.
I leaned further toward the window, tried to get it back. In the moments that followed, I found myself wondering if it had ever happened at all. I keep trying to remember what it was like to live that other life with you. Often now, I catch myself chasing shadows passed the corner of my eye, my head aches from it, my heart aches more.
My heart aches. I hope that it is not the same for you. What a waste it would be, the endless breaking of two hearts that were meant to be one. I hope that this voice interrupting my thoughts isn’t your own aching. Were you calling to me just then? Was it your presence that made me dizzy and not the heady fragrance of a honeysuckle vine and a summer night?