“maybe in another life, louis,” i finally said, staring off at the distant city lights and buildings, feeling the cold creep insidiously into my bones. his name easily rolled off my tongue like a reflex — a muscle memory so deep-seated and yet so strange and unfamiliar now.
silence filled the air and yet, at the same time, it was filled with other things — defeat, heartbreak, resignation, the sounds of vehicles speeding off. the pain gnawing in my gut. the regretful yearning. the need to just be stupid and reach out for his hand. the pain of knowing i couldn’t. the finality of the ending.
and yet, here we stood, too close and too far.
he nodded and stirred lightly, as if preparing to leave. my gaze shifted into his direction. his movements, still slow and graceful, and lit by the moon. it was almost too painful, almost too delicate, almost too poetic. i could still remember what falling in love with him was like. i could still remember him breaking my heart for the first time, until the time where there are no more pieces left to break. and i would’ve done it all again.
he finally spoke, bringing me back to reality. it was almost too soft, too weak, but i heard it.
“maybe in another life.”
