The Story of John

Note: This work is purely, unadulterated fiction. Any resemblance to anyone’s life( namely mine) is purely coincidental

( John in a nutshell)

When dreaming about something felt so good yet hurts so much… that’s when you know it matters. And I dream of John the way I dream of Italy, of watercolor sunsets, of beautifully written words. That’s why I walked away. Because I know what feels too good can hurt too much.

( John 5 ft. near)

The first time I saw John, he was a brown and green blur up the stage. I was a spectator minus eyeglasses and good eyesight. Everything was unclear from where I stood except his warm voice and the new, unfamiliar rhythm of my heart- both demanding to be sang along.

( John up close)

The next time I saw John I was busily falling from the last three steps of a church stairs. He helped me pick myself, brushed the dirt from the knees of my tattered jeans, asked questions about my well-being all the while I cursed and blasphemed for my own clumsiness. His eyes were filled with concern which should only have been reserved for people you’ve already known forever. That afternoon, I became a cliche, a girl who falls as easily as she gets lost in familiar, brown eyes.

( John 5 inches away)

When we said goodbye, I stood too close to almost never wanting to let go. I made promises of coming back and he made promises of waiting. We never set time frames, never set rules. It was a separation tethered only with fragile strings of lovely and meaningless words.

( John through hindsight)

Being with John was like living between the lines written by Pablo Neruda, like watching the rays of the sun move on the walls of Pantheon for the first time. Surreal Bliss. Breathtakingly, painfully wonderful. All swatches of lights and colors. Of the blinding, dazing, disorienting variety. How do you walk away from all of that? Well, you say your goodbyes and make due promises. You make excuses of needing to find yourself- which is silly. Because if you have somehow misplaced yourself here, how can you possibly find it in places you’ve never been to before?

( John through insight)

Now I stare at John from across the room. And everything came back in torrents and swirls of misty lines, bold pigments, and thoughts trying to run each other out. I’m thinking, “So this is how it feels, walking away from something beautiful and suddenly, unexpectedly finding yourself with the same beautiful in the same room.” I’m thinking, “What is he thinking?” I’m thinking,” Who is that girl beside him?” I’m thinking, “The fact that he broke his promises as I broke mine makes me feel so much better…so much worse.”

( John through foresight)

I figured there are many types and forms of happiness as there are many types and forms of stories. Some strands may seem familiar and the same but not really. A happy ending. A goodbye. What-ifs. What could’ve beens. A choice. A lesson. John is one such story, a story which could’ve ended differently. But right now I could only wonder but not wish for a different ending. Right now I’m happy and he’s happy, in different, separate ways. He is happy in the beginning of a new story. I am happy in a new chapter, a chapter of hoping that the next story will not end on a period of a goodbye or a lesson learned but with ellipses, trails of well-preserved and carefully kept promises…