Memories

Coffee shops, in my opinion, seem kind of pretentious Almost like the typical popular kid but in hipster form. However, this one was different maybe because of the doe eyed barista or the chestnut colored walls or maybe even the soft jazz that played everyday. Whatever is was I'm glad I had it because it made feel like I belonged for the first time in my life. Just as these thoughts crossed my mind I caught a smell of something familiar. It was the strangest thing, it happened so randomly, so suddenly I almost didn't recognize it. Nothing more than a smell but it triggered so many emotions and feelings. So many memories long since past but the pain of them was still fresh and aching. It was the smell of the detergent his mother used to wash their clothes. It baffled me to think something as simple as laundry detergent could bring back the whirling thoughts of my teenaged angst. There seemed to be too many sounds now. The room it's self seemed to get smaller. This didn't make sense to me it's not like I haven't smelled it since the last time I saw him. I've smelled it several times after. Why did it affect me so harshly now? The scent was gone just as fast as it came with the smell of fresh brewed coffee to replace it. My own coffee didn't seem so appetizing now, just the memory of the doughnuts his father use to buys us on Sunday mornings before church. I missed him dearly then and now. I miss the way his arms felt around me, how his chest felt so strong and sure. I always tried to breath in the smell of him as much as I could. As if to burn scent of him into my brain. I wanted to burn his image in to my brain. I guess that's a projection of my fear of being forgotten. I didn't need try so hard though because his presents alone was enough to force you to never forget him. God knows I never did forget him. I could still feel how soft his hair was with how it was several shades of glittering gold. His eyes held the vastness of the deepest well of intelligence. The color changed often from the color of the brightest sky to the most exquisite emerald sheen. His lips always so soft and the prefect shade of blushing pink. We were just kids then but it didn't matter to me. He was my everything. This boy was the Achilles to my Patroclus, the sun to my moon, the light to my dark, and all those cheese lines about how one person completes another. He was the better part of me. The one that always pushed for my very best. But as fate would have it the boy did things that broke my heart in so many piece that it couldn't even be recognized as a heart. Yet that wasn't the end of us we still had long road ahead. I loved him regardless because in the end he was my person, my other half. I wrote poetry either because I'm pathetic or just so unimaginably tortured and we both know which one I think it is. I imagined what our life would be like if we got married and maybe that was half the problem. I had many fancy words in my arsenal but I could never find the right ones to string together in order to express how much he meant to me. Memories were coming like a never ending tidal wave at this point. I remember all the sporting events I'd attended with his family. I remember his Father teaching us about fixing cars and giving random bits of advice about life. I remember the heavy conversations I had with his mother. Images of laughing and painting pictures with his sister played in my head like a movie. A year had past and we were going into our second year together as seniors in high school. We were still so fresh and new to life. Like all good things in the world it came to an end. The details are fuzzy however, I remember the pain I felt. We had talked of breaking up and he really thought we should and I of course disagreed. It dragged on and as it did the pain was building like a wild fire. It was either I do it or him and so out of hurt and trying to maintain some semblance of control I broke up with him. I regretted it immediately but nothing would ever change his mind and from there the memories get hazier. He joined the military for the opportunity to become the person he always wanted to be. Pride was a strong tasted in my mouth then. I was so proud of him and how far he'd came and even more of how far he'd go. Fear curled around my throat like the cool hand of death and with each passing day the hand squeezed tighter. He'd go to basic training in a state that wasn't his home. He be so far and all alone. This thought pained me deeply but what hurt me so much more was that he would move on with his life without me. I lost my person's love and now I was losing the ability to watch over him. I knew my protection wasn't much but I always tried. He would go off to a place where I couldn't reach and I'd never get to know what happened to him. I could never know if he was safe or if he was happy. I'd never get to witness the person he would finally be. Never is an awfully long time. Despite this I still hold out hope that maybe one day I would be completed. Maybe One day my person would come back to me again. The memories stopped at last and I was able to draw in a shaky breath. The coffee shop was just the same as I'd left it while I took a trip down memory lane. People were still laughing with their friends and the machines still hummed. Seeking comfort I reached out grasped the bone colored cup in my hands letting it's warmth seep into me. "Never is an awfully long time" the words tumbled pasted my lips dipped in misery. With that I finished my coffee and walked into the busy streets.