“There is always my heart.”
That was what she said when I told her I did not feel at home anywhere. And the way she said it, made the strong promise of the words themselves look minuscule. There was the look on her face that made it look like she was smiling and sobbing at the same time and the way she tilted her head as if the weight of those words were resting on her neck. And then the fondness with which she stroked my cheek, like it was meant to always belong there. My heart broke then, and I made a sacred vow to God, to love her forever. Forever after forever ended.
Now she was leaving.
In two weeks’ time she would be married to someone else, and she wasn’t even crying; though I wasn’t too. There are some feelings tears would mock, not express. This was one of them.
She held my arm with one hand and my shoulder with the other. Our eyes would not meet, there was shame between us. Shame that her heart, once promised to me, was leaving; shame that my heart once broken for her would never be whole again. Her head, that I had kissed countless times, touched like it would be with me eternally, that pretty, pretty head of hers laid on my chest. I only could hold her waist with one hand. Two hands would be too much, it would be like possessing her; and she was not mine, not anymore.
I should have known this was too beautiful to be, I’d always been unlucky with girls. With her, it was effortless. Like some astrological connection was between us, that we were lovers in a past life. I did not need to be who I was not, and she came to me perfectly made, wanting nothing. Heaven would not be better than this love.
In those epic movies, when the beautiful heroine was leaving the prince, he would shout and rail and fight. But look at me, no fight, no spirit. Just stood there, in that blasted room I called an apartment and stared at the blank television.
Or he would stand gallantly, and in fine words declare his undying love for her. But I know the love I have for her will never die; it’ll just hide quietly in some obscure corner of my heart, biding its time, resting till some ignition wakes it back to life. I stood silent, no coherent words through my minds, just mad thoughts like these, thoughts without order or sense.
Four years we had together, four youthful years, fateful too. They said she had been promised to another before we met – some important promise born of hard-nosed reality, not the fantasy we had. She did not tell me this earlier: when she finally did, she said she thought he would never come for her. He was the ultimate playboy, women swooned for him. Surely someone worthier, he would have found. But here he was, he’d come to claim his prize.
It was true that I felt at home in her heart, and now she was leaving me homeless, back in the cold: the warm heat of passion gone, the sweet nectar of her kisses gone, and the satisfaction of her presence snatched away.
She dropped her hands and leaned away from me, as if to recant her old promise; she let her hand stroke my cheek in sudden nostalgia, sealing the finality of this minute. Paradise was lost.
Turning away from me, she gave no backwards glance. She just walked to the door; that gait of her head, her carefully shaped shoulders, every sway of her hips, the curves of her atrociously beautiful ass, all indelibly marked on my brain.
The door slammed, she was gone.