southern memory

Falstaff

I remember the warm afternoon, rain having just fallen, and the smell of the black asphalt highway by the railroad tracks. The sun was so hot and the cicadas were making noise in the tall dark green trees near the bridge. We walked side by side, her and I. Just two kids trapped by the summer afternoon, with no particular idea what we were going to do, it was enough just to walk and talk, and wander down the road, to the end of town.
I don’t know what we talked about, I just remember the even rows of corn, the reflection of the puddles in the rows, the warmth, the noise, and her lovely soft white skin. Her eyes, like almonds, green and bright, and her smile that seemed to capture me and hold me while I stared at her face, her neck, and held her soft strong hand in mine.
From the edge of the bridge, we leaned over the rail, and we tried to see the bottom of the slow dark stream that ran beneath us, we imagined we were travelers, peering into our own destiny, creating a fantasy and indulging our whims, we just stood there, hand in hand, and I held her there, felt her heartbeat, smelled her hair, put her head on my shoulder and I felt so complete. Perhaps we had no fear, but we kissed often, without hesitation, and we tried so hard to find something in each others eyes, our mouths, and we pressed our bodies together as if we were the last two people on the face of the earth.
I remember her face, her kiss, and her voice, it still echoes in my heart and my mind, and perhaps my own soul. I loved her, and her name doesn’t matter anymore, but somehow between the innocence of youth, and the arrogance of my own fears, I still recall the first taste of her mouth, and I recall her beauty, like a song, I can play over and over in my mind. Where has she gone I wonder, where did she go.
One day, before the world crashed down upon us both, she told me she had to leave this town, leave the heart of my own happiness, I was shocked, and counted the days before she told me had to go, I begged and pleaded with her to stay, but I could tell she was already gone, we spent the last afternoon there in that hot southern town finding each other on the bench of the old house, and perhaps with God as our only witness, we became one for just a day, and we pledged to write, to stay in touch, no matter where we went or where we were going. We swore an oath to each other, and tried so desperately to stay together no matter what, I walked her home, and her mother pulled her into the house as I stood on the porch, and I walked home feeling lost, and confused, and in love.
I remember the following day, I walked to the house she lived in, found the door open, and the entire place empty, nothing of her seemed to have remained, no car in the driveway, and the screen door just swayed back and forth, slapping against the house, the noise was deafening. My own body, my heart, and mind exploded, and I ran down the road to see if I could catch a glimpse, just one more before she left, perhaps I just missed her. I ran till I couldn’t run any longer and collapsed at the bridge. I leaned over and imagined her there with me, and I closed my eyes and imagined her hair in my face, and her smell filled my nose, I opened my eyes and saw only honeysuckle wrapped around the rail. I knew then I would never see her again, and her gift to me, will forever remain in my heart and my memories. Even now, I find an old bridge over a dark stream, and I peer over it, into the black waters, and I imagine her there.
Somewhere I wonder, does she remember me, and if so, remember the gift she gave me that last day we spent together. I remember her kiss, and her soft red hair, and it warms my heart, and I still miss her even now.

Zardon

A piece of your heart........

Falstaff

funny in a way, I see her in every woman I want to be with....

pr0digal jenius

damne dude....that's really good....and deep...and meanignful...and.........wow. I cans afely say if everyone loved someone as much as you obviously love(present tense, not past) her the world would be a much happier place

Falstaff

But women, I love them all, better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all.....it brings me solace

pr0digal jenius

very true...a memory is far better then a void, and desire is often mroe enjoyable then acquisition as well