This story is currently titleless on account of my not being able to think of an appropriate title. I am open to suggestion.
There he was. Standing across the pagoda, leaning leisurely on the wall of a magnificent marble fountain was the man she loved.
She shook her head and her soft copper locks swayed gently over her shoulders as her eye-lids covered her innocent azure eyes. She must be experiencing a mirage. Israel was as near a desert as she had come in all her travels.
Slowly her lids lift and…He’s still there, his forearm resting strongly on the flat of the surrounding wall, newspaper in hand. A few strands of his raven hair falling into his eyes. She gets lost as he lifts a hand to push it away. She remembers a time when she was pushing away that raven hair as it ran smoothly through her fingers to his stubbled cheek. His tender tough and passionate embrace had been a fairy tale adventure for the young beauty. An adventure she always dreamed but never realized until that one trip, those few months, that one night…she fell in love.
An ashen tear pulls her from her reverie of those magical moments but her eyes remain closed. She stands there, staring at the back of her eyelids, heart and mind hashing it out. As her mind wins and a hand reaches up to wipe the tear away, she realizes she’s smiling by the curve of her cheek. Her heart declares victory.
As her eyes unfold, it is as though in slow motion. All she can hear is the drumming of heart beat and as the passing crowd disperses, the noise of the market-place floods her senses.
She walks slowly, unsurely to the fountain where the man stood. Yes, stood, for he has gone and her heart has once again fled with him. All that remains is the newspaper he was studying. Forcing herself to remain calm, she unfolds the paper to the literary section. There it was, the story that she wrote of their love. It was her by-line. He was reading her by-line mere meters from where she stood.
As the tears begin to pool in the bottom of her eyes, she walks determinedly away from the fountain, away from the pagoda, away from him, away from love. As the paper flies askew onto the marbled ground, it opens to the final page of the story…
“Then the two lovers parted ways with a love incomparable to all others and an understanding that surpassed perception. There are times in life when even the greatest passions of your life will fade to a simple memory, untainted by time or complications. The two lovers never met again though their young passionate love may linger in the back of their mind, tip of their heart or pads of their lips eternally.
The final two words had a straight line drawn through them and below the article in a gentleman’s penmanship was written,
“This doesn’t have to be the end.
Another time then?”