Lost touch

“Have we met before?”

The question is simple. It is just 4 words, not too long to be one of those overly complicated sentences that feel like they have no end, not too short that you’d miss it, while you’re still thinking about the overly complicated sentences that feel like they have no end. 

Have we met before? Only once, but oh, it lasted a lifetime. You were such a beauty, in your flower dress, with the way the sun was kissing your cheeks and turning your hair into melted gold that I was begging to touch. Oh, the satin feel of your skin against my fingers was the only thing in the whole wide world that would make me crumble, that would put me on my knees and beg like a stray dog. 

Have we met before? Only once, but it was for a thousand years. And the memory of you I will always hold dear in my heart, even though it’s no longer in my chest, as I couldn’t bear witness to you, not remembering my name. No, my Persephone, I am weak, and your eyes looking at me with curiosity, rather than love, is killing me, day after day. 

Have. We. Met. Before. You’re asking this question for the 8th time this month, my love. An argument could be made that you are making progress, as the previous one you only asked it five, but then again, that might have something to do with the fact that I’ve seen you only five times. I’m a weak, weak man, my Helen. I’m a disgrace.

Have we met before… Well, if I have to get technical about it, yes, we did. We have met a bit over 20 times now, my lovely thorny rose, but you used to get annoyed at me when I use the word “technically”, and even though the sickness has changed a lot about you, this has stayed the same. You couldn’t remember your own name, but oh, you’d always find it in you that “technically” winning an argument only means that I’m losing. 

“Have we met before?”

“No, we haven’t. But I saw you in the garden and I couldn’t stop myself from coming over.” The lie rolls off my lips so effortlessly, as I have repeated it again, and again, and again. In the beginning, of course, the doctors advised to remind you of who I am, but screw the fucking doctors… To tell you that I’ve been your husband for the past 50 years only brought tears to your eyes, and confusion. How can you be married for 50 years, when you only remembered 20 of them from your life? That made you sad, my sweet Madeline. Sad and confused, and you would refused to see me, and that would kill me… So I left that advice at the same place I left my dignity, and kneeled next to your wheelchair, so I can grab your hand. Your fingers were still holding their grace, even though the arthritis was taking the better of you. Not as much as dementia, this is for sure.

“You are such a beauty. Are you busy tonight?” You blush. After so many years, it seems like your face didn’t know that it is supposed to be getting older. Of course, yes, there were some signs of aging, you’re not immortal and, unfortunately, you are not invincible either, but.. God, you still could blush. And your eyes could still sparkle. 

“Well you must ask my father. I’m not that type of girl.” you giggle, and I giggle to, as we both know that no, you are not that type of girl. This was actually what I had to do, 53 years ago. You made me go, find your father and beg him for your attention. 

He said no. You couldn’t not care less, watching me slaving over him for a week. The only thing worse than that was that now, I had to beg for your attention and approval, and you were universes away from the simple man I was. And I still am. So, no, you were not that type of girl. You were your own type of girl and you are making my head spin even now. 

“Then let me take you for a walk, at least. Do me the favour, it’s daylight and there are other people in the park too. We will not going to be doing anything inappropriate and I promise you, I will send you home and I will talk to your father”

You smile. Even at this age, even if it is inappropriate to think that way, I still want to lean in and kiss you. You smile, and chuckle, and blush, and giggle.. And i grab the handles of your wheelchair, so I can start pushing it around the alleys. 

The weather is beautiful. You love the sunny days - not the ones in the summer, those are way too hot and humid for you. No, you prefer the calmness of the autumn, you love the leaves, the colors of the sky at dawn or right before the sunset. We discuss all of those topics, and I act surprised, with every word, as I haven’t memorized everything about you a lifetime ago. 

I miss you. I am egoistic and I miss you. Every night I have to go to that bed alone, without your body next to mine, is a day that I do not wish to continue. But even in my selfish sadness, I find happiness. Because now, I get to bring you flowers every day and I get to see your surprise every day. Now, every afternoon is spent, day after day, with the fresh scent of new love. Every day you tell me that I need to speak to your father, and every day, we have our walk and you give me a little kiss on my ashy cheek. 

Have we met before? We did. We’ve met a thousand times, and until my last breath, we will be meeting every day.