I wrote a prose one day to capture a heartbreaking goodbye. The awareness of the impending separation and slim expectations of meeting again. Not just meeting but meeting under favorable circumstances.
But, where did it all start? It seems like a few random turns took us there, yet we wonder — can coincidences be so well planned?
No one saw us hanging it. We pressed gently, and it clicked.
We walked out the front door, turned right, exactly like you said.
We crossed the market holding hands.
At the next junction, I choose left, randomly without much thought, and we followed the road on the left.
The roads grew wider for there were no vehicles parked on the sides.
You picked a turn upon the next junction.
We were out of the crowds. Only a few faces occasionally passed us. Neither they nor we recognized them, but we did smile at some, and some smiled back.
I picked the next turn. It took us farther away from where we met and into the woods.
We let go of our hands and walked on the opposite sides. You observed the rising rocks with your bare hands, and I stared long into the valley below.
You started to hum a tune, and the winds whistled along.
Turns came, and we chose in turns. The day grew warm, and by the next hour, we were somewhere we called nowhere.
A lake came upon us, or we came to it. Who cared anymore, why it happened, and whatever did?
We stopped and rolled out the sheet, our bags lay on the side, facing the water, we sit and eat.
The day began to conclude, while we collected every memory we could.
The lock we tied in that fence before we left had three keys. Two we tied in black threads and kept one each. The third we threw in the lake, as far as it could reach.
We shouldered our bags and shared a kiss. Locking our memories and carrying a piece.
You can open them, and I could do so too. Or, the universe may conspire if neither of us eventually do.
Until we meet once again, adieu to you, my beloved friend.