Whenever I thought about such things, she was the one I thought about. We had not known each other for that long, but it seemed that we knew more about each other than anyone else I'd ever known. I can remember her sitting in some café with me, looking at me over the top of her coffee cup as we told each other our stories.
I remember thinking then that I would never, ever, meet anyone who understood me the way that she did. I remember how she laughed and looked away from me as she put her cup down as if she was already imagining some route that she would take which would take her away from me.
I knew that she wanted to be somewhere else, that that place, that town, was not the place for her. She seemed out of place there, as though she was some great actress and that town was some small provincial theatre that had a stage too small for her.
I knew that I was not enough, either, back then I did not know who I was or what I wanted to be. I had no life, except a small pointless day-to-day existence. She knew that I was on the verge of making some kind of breakthrough, of becoming the sort of person I was capable of becoming, of who I ought to be. She was already there, fully-formed and ready to take on the world, while I was still struggling to break out of my chrysalis.
She was ready to take flight, and we both knew that life is so very short and that she had no time to wait for me.
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