Echoes

Another vignette that may find its way into something I write.

Surely you remember those kisses. Those hundreds upon hundreds of kisses. We were shy, at least I was, but we shattered that obstacle somehow. We broke every rule. Yet rules seemed so utterly empty to us, didn’t they? Rules were simply the articulation of fears, fears that human nature, unchecked by onerous boundaries, would explode into chaotic expressions of lust or hatred or love or, perhaps, innocence. We knew the rules but we broke them anyway. We crossed those lines, stepping from strident fidelity into minefields littered with erogenous zones. Your marriage had collapsed. Mine hadn’t begun. It was in that miasma of anger and anticipation that something blossomed, albeit briefly, that brought us together in a fire that burned too bright, too fast. It was so impossibly short that it could not have hoped to satisfy our cravings. And then it was over. Except for the longing and the questions over all these years. “What if?” “What might have happened if fear hadn’t intervened?” And still, today, when I see you, I wonder whether the universe would have spun a little sweeter, a little faster, with a little more energy, if I hadn’t been so immature, so young, and so damned afraid.

About John Swinburn

"Love not what you are but what you may become."― Miguel de Cervantes
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