Had she been warmer, I might not have left.
She, who had somehow trained her girls to run, on cobblestone, in heels, and look great doing so. She, who brought a type of Scandic modernness together with a thousand years of history and made it look like it belonged together. She who, despite being a bit rough with me, had finally whispered – no, sung – into my ear what I’d been aching to hear: that I could stay as long as I wanted. But, she and I had to say good-bye.
It was a summer-vacation kind of love; you know, the love under whose light anything seems possible – infinity visible again in the everyday – even swirling around right there in your coffee cup. The kind that can take all the dreams that long ago rusted away under the rain of your own mediocrity and make them shine again. Or – was that just me, more awake?
And likewise, it was an end-of-summer-vacation good-bye; just like that girl who hugged me before she got into her parents’ station wagon to head home for school, I told her we’d see each other again soon. We’d stay in touch – somehow be together again, I said – and then felt the heartache as she faded off into a darkening sky. But later would come new friends, new adventures, and so on – and before you know it, that rain kicks in and you start to forget…