The home I found in your eyes

The park was quiet and serene. It was bathed in the gentle light of the early morning sun peeking through the clouds. The rhythmic crunch of gravel beneath my shoes soothed me, while the trees whispered softly in the gentle breeze. It was half past five in the morning, and I was walking home as the day slowly dawned. Life has come to standstill, and I felt like the only person alive. With every step, I feel the morning chill seeping into my soul. I love the early hours of the morning, even though I often miss them amidst the chaos. Neither people have woken up yet, nor the animals and plants. But I'm awake, walking home, savoring the silence and solitude. In fact, morning is the only time when loneliness doesn't bother me, because the world is lonely, the sun... it too is lonely in the morning.

Mornings are beautiful and peaceful, but that tranquility is fleeting as people soon wake up. The whole city seems to rise in a frenzy. People rush to work, children to school, and the wanderers take to the streets. Life begins, the lies begin, and people forget to think. It's half past five in the morning and I am wandering around like a lost soul to find a sense of connection to the world. 

As I passed the old oak tree and got to the small pond that followed, something in the air shifted—a quiet tension I couldn’t place, until I noticed him. His dark brown hair, deep hazel eyes reminded me of a memory that my soul locked away. His face brought up memories from my past that I couldn't quite articulate. He was wearing jeans with a simple white shirt, but somehow, he caught my attention. His deep hazel eyes shimmered under the morning light, framed by long, dark lashes that gave his gaze an almost haunting intensity. There was an ease to his posture, like someone comfortable in solitude, but ready to engage when needed. Even in silence, he commanded attention. His gaze was like an invitation, or a challenge to see the world through his eyes. 

As our cautious steps brought us together, his gaze met mine. Time slowed down and I was drawn into him. "Excuse me" I said, with a voice barely over a whisper, revealing tension I felt throughout my body. "Have we met before"- I asked. 

He starts studying my messy hair, and clothes that were way too big on me. I could feel his eyes noticing how tired I looked- the dark circles under my eyes that I couldn’t hide and the way every part of me seemed worn out. The baggy shirt hung off me like a hand-me-down from someone much larger, its sleeves falling down to my elbows. They weren’t meant to fit me; they swallowed me whole, as though I was trying to disappear inside them. As his eyes studied me, I couldn’t help but wonder what he saw. Was it someone who had simply stopped caring, or did he see through the mess to the person beneath it? 

"I don’t think so," he said with a small smile. "I’d definitely remember."  His words showcased a level confidence I could never comprehend. His voice had a unique timber that resonated deeply within me. As he reached his hand, he introduced himself as Connor. 

I hesitated for a moment before shaking his hand. His grip was firm yet welcoming, grounding me in the present. “I’m Celine,” I said, more surely than I expected.

With a smile that felt oddly familiar, he replied, “Nice to meet you, Celine.” He lingered for a moment, studying me—not in the way strangers do, but with an intensity that made me feel seen, truly seen, in a way I hadn’t in a long time. In that moment, as his gaze locked onto mine, a surge of warmth washed over me, wrapping me in a layer of safety that momentarily silenced the chaos of the world around us. It was as if the sun shone brighter, and life had briefly been painted with a new brush.

“You are out early,” he observed, breaking the silence. He spoke softly, a hint of longing in his voice, as if he, too, carried burdens from a past he couldn’t escape.

“I like walking when the world is quiet,” I answered. “Before everything gets loud, people wake up and start pretending again.” His expression shifted, the soft edges of his smile tightening. 

“Pretending?” 

I nodded, unsure why I felt the need to open up to this stranger, but the words flowed anyway. “Yeah. You know how people wear masks all day, they say the right things at the right time, do what they are ‘supposed to do’. But they forget to live, I walk to remember who I am, I guess.”

He seemed to consider my words carefully, and his expression held a depth of understanding that echoed in my mind. There was a silent recognition in his eyes, as if he were a protector of my dreams. “I know what you mean,” he said. “Sometimes it feels like everyone’s just sleepwalking through life, doesn’t it?” 

I studied him more closely now. There was something in the way he spoke that made me believe he truly understood. 

"Do you walk often?" he asked.

"Sometimes. Not as much as I should." I paused, then added, "What about you? What are you doing here, so early in the morning?"

He laughed, a soft sound that seemed to ease the tension in the air. "I suppose I’m doing the same thing you are—trying to remember. Trying to find some kind of meaning before the day starts."

We began walking together, side by side, our steps slow and measured. The gravel crunched beneath our feet, the only sound as the rest of the city still slept. There was something calming about walking with Connor, something natural. 

Over the weeks that followed, I found myself meeting him more often—by chance, or maybe not. Our paths seemed to cross more frequently, as though the universe was nudging us together. We’d walk through the same park, sometimes talking about nothing in particular, sometimes about life’s deepest questions. I found myself opening up to him in ways I hadn’t with anyone else.

Connor had a way of asking questions that made me think, really think, about my life, my choices, my fears. And the strangest part? He seemed genuinely interested. He would listen, really listen, with those hazel eyes that were so full of quiet understanding. The more I shared, the lighter I felt, as though the weight I’d been carrying for years was slowly lifting.

And it wasn’t just me. He shared pieces of himself, too. He spoke of past dreams, ambitions that had been lost in the shuffle of life. Of moments where he, too, felt disconnected from the world around him.

We would spend most of our time at the park around the oak tree where we first met. The gentle sound of the water would fill the silence between our words. I would watch his every move carefully, how his hair moved with the wind, how his eyes sparkled with the sun. I wanted to remember every detail of his face, like how his smile would wrinkle his cheeks. We would talk about everything, I didn’t feel the need to carefully curate my words with him, there was a sense of ease that only came with him being nearby. 

As the days grew shorter and the leaves began to shift from vibrant greens to muted browns, I couldn’t help but feel that something was changing between us, too. I started noticing the little things, he would turn to look at me, but his gaze seemed to drift past me before snapping back. His responses were slower, like his mind was wandering to places I couldn’t reach. There was a slight pause in his laugh, like it wasn’t quite reaching his eyes anymore.

One afternoon, we sat in our usual spot, the early autumn sun casting long shadows across the park. He was talking about something, but I wasn’t realty listening to him. I was too focused on the way his shoulders seemed to slump a little more than usual, he was squeezing his hands like he always did when he got nervous or uncomfortable. There was a heaviness in the air between us, like an invisible wall I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

I watched Connor toss a pebble into the small pond; his brow furrowed in thought. “You know, my dad used to bring me here when I was a kid,” he said, his voice laced with nostalgia. “He’d say the pond was magic, that it could grant wishes if you believed hard enough.”

I smiled; my heart warmed by his reminiscence. “Did you ever make a wish?”

“Once. I wished for a dog,” he chuckled, the sound rich and comforting. But even as he spoke, I sensed an undercurrent of something unspoken, a shadow lurking beneath his laughter.

It was a typical day in the park, yet I felt a chill that hinted at the winter to come. I brushed it off, attributing my unease to the shifting season. But deep down, I knew it was more than that. Weeks passed, and the cold of autumn settled over us. The trees were shedding their leaves, mirroring the gradual detachment I felt between Connor and me. Our conversations became less frequent, our laughter more forced. I often caught him staring off into the distance, lost in thoughts that seemed miles away from me.

One crisp afternoon, we decided to meet in our usual spot, a bench behind the old oak tree overlooking the pond.  As I arrived, I noticed Connor was already seated, his gaze fixed on the water.

His eyes, once full of love and warmth, held a sadness that mirrored my own. Comfort of his presence started to fade, the space between us seemed to stretch with unspoken doubts. He turned to me with a look I hadn’t seen before—an urgency behind his usual calm exterior. "Hey, Celine," he said, his voice was low and his smile was not reflected in his eyes. He paused and asked: "do you ever feel like…like you’re waiting for something? Something important, but you don’t know what it is?"

The question hit me hard, because it was something I’d thought about, too. "All the time," I admitted. "It’s like I’m walking through life, but I’m waiting for something to start. I just don’t know what that something is."

He nodded, and for the first time since we’d met, he seemed vulnerable. "I think I’ve been waiting for the same thing." 

Our final conversation was brief, filled with unspoken words and lingering glances. That night, as we parted ways, there was an unspoken shift between us. The air felt heavier, charged with something neither of us could quite name. I walked home with my mind spinning, replaying our conversations, wondering what this connection meant, and where it was leading.

Then one morning, he wasn’t there. I waited by the oak tree, my breath forming cold clouds in the crisp air. The minutes dragged, each one a needle pricking at my chest, but still, there was no sign of him. Hours passed, and still, no sign of him. I told myself he was just running late, that it wasn’t a big deal. But when he didn’t show up the next day, or the day after that, reality began to sink in.

He was gone… The home that I saw within your eyes, the home that I thought I would move into... Disappeared. Little did I know some things happened for the last time that day. A path was crossed for the last time. A face was seen for the last time. Someone was loved for the last time. 

I miss him, I miss the person I was with him, the way he made me feel. As I wandered the familiar paths we once shared, I felt the ache of his absence in every empty bench and silent tree. But as the days turned into months, the park no longer felt peaceful. It felt hollow. The serenity I once found in the early morning was now tainted with the ache of his absence. I realized then that the loneliness I once embraced was no longer comforting. It was unbearable.

A funny game of fate brought us together that day, I am still haunted by the memory of our first conversation, our first shared glance. I saw glimpses of a gentle soul and kind eyes, that mirrored a damaged heart. Every word he spoke seemed to open new realms within me. Every shared glance and gentle touch stitched us closer together. With him, life felt like a lyrical dance, fleeting but beautiful. Pirouetting now and then to the fleeting thrill of possibilities, that remained nothing more than beautiful dreams. I guess it’s true when they say, if a story is over, you wouldn’t even run into each other in a small city. 

I am still bound by the mystery of you, your words whether carefully crafted or unintentionally profound had a way of seeping into my soul. You were an enigma, a beautiful riddle that I was desperate to solve. Even though I was afraid of your darkness, your broken pieces, I was drawn to you and your despair. But now as the coldness of your shadow deepens, I am falling into an eternal dream from which I will never awaken from. My final hopes and desires are disappearing like fleeting vapor, as my last breath crystallizes in the icy air of his shadow. Yet again, I turned to be another goodbye. My longing for him is about the depth of the memories we thought we would build, not the amount of time we spent together… 

I wasn’t just cold because fall had arrived. The world seemed duller; the colors less vibrant. Certainty began to unravel; he killed parts of me that are now buried deep within my mind. No flowers grew, no visitors came, and pain became my only companion. You were an inconsistency that gave me pure moments of ecstasy before killing me with my own dreams. But I might just forgive you if you bring flowers to my grave.

I searched for meaning in the fragments of our conversations, hoping to piece together what we had lost. As the last echoes of our time together faded, I was left with memories of what could have been. The vision of our shared future became a ghostly reflection, haunting me with its beauty and its loss. In the quiet of those final moments, I understood that some stories are meant to end, and I was left to confront the reality of a future without the light you once brought into my life.

As the darkness of my mind penetrated deeper into my soul, I saw my hopes and dreams form into a beautiful movie—moments of pure ecstasy and self-fulfillment. It was the most captivating film I had ever seen, and yet, one I knew I would never watch again. On this foggy, gloomy evening, I stood before the mirror, trying to meet my own eyes through the blur of my tears. The silence around me felt suffocating, each heartbeat echoing like a countdown. The shadows in the room deepened, wrapping around me like a heavy blanket, whispering the sweet lure of escape. I felt the wright of despair pressing down, urging me to consider a path that shimmered with an unsettling allure. The thought was a brief whisper, but it lingered, teasing me with the promise of peace. I felt so lost, like wilting flower, trapped in a world that had long forgotten its bloom. 

With every painful memory that flashed before me—your laughter, the warmth of your touch, the way you made me feel whole—the temptation to let go tightened its grip. Perhaps it would be easier to slip away into the silence, I thought to myself.  Because no matter what I do, I am left with a deep longing that my heart still yearns for. 

Your loving looks will always be preserved in photographs, and the light that once lived in my eyes will only survive in your memories. I started wondering if you would remember my name as the voice of your heart fades. With a deep breath, I felt the weight of silence settling in, as if the universe were holding its breath, waiting for my choice.

As I stared into the mirror, the face looking back was a stranger—hollow eyes, a ghost of who I used to be. A sigh escaped my lips, a breath held too long, and I asked myself, “Have we met before?”