I believe in magic, and it’s been this way ever since we said goodbye at the coffee shop.
It all began when you looked up from your phone, quite bored like I was at a party where most guests and the music were thirty years older than us, and your eyes met mine and you smiled, our eyes still locked, and I smiled back, tucking my hair behind my ear, suddenly conscious of how I looked. I liked the way you had the sleeves of your shirt rolled up till your elbows and how your shirt stretched taut across your shoulders. I liked the way you didn’t try to hide the fact that you were staring at times at the heart shaped pendant on my neck, and at the plunge of my dress’ neckline. We began talking and it was a pretty night, us on the lonely terrace and a chilly breeze and the party below us. It wasn’t too late before my arms were around your neck, your hands around my waist, your lips on mine and it almost seemed too haste. Oddly enough, I do not remember everything about that night. But that one thing, the one moment that remains stuck to my head like those yellowing, old photographs stuck in those old fashioned albums that refuse to peel off of the album pages no matter what, is the moment when we said goodbye and you held my arm, pulled me close and whispered “I love you” in my ear.
That’s the moment I suddenly felt tipsy, as though the air we breathed was drunk. That’s the moment when I noticed the fireflies darting around us, and it made me smile like an idiot.
That’s the moment all the magic began.
We met a lot, we talked a lot. More often than not, we met at that very same coffee shop, where we said goodbye. I loved the fact that our real-life, face to face conversations were longer than any phone call or text chat we ever had. I loved the fact that you knew about my favourite books; that you didn’t read much yourself made no difference. The fairy lights and dreamcatchers and pretty bracelets that now cluttered my room were nothing but an attempt to make everything around me as ridiculously beautiful as you made me feel inside. Being in love with you was like standing on the edge of a precipice. It was thrilling and lovely and felt so gloriously wonderful. I didn’t even need to romanticize things because I could actually hear angels sing, and feel the glitter oozing out of my skin. Do not think I’m too fantastical, because when you are in love, the world doesn’t seem anything less than a fairytale.
And then, when we said goodbye to each other at the coffee shop, and the kohl in my eyes got smudged by tears that left ugly black stains down my face, and you tried hard not to think about me whenever my favourite song played on the radio, and as we both learned to gulp down the lump that forms in our throats as we read old messages and see old gifts, suddenly I realize that I have moved on. The tears still appear, mind you. We both don’t leave each other’s lives without leaving a gaping hole that won’t be filled anytime soon. You know the feeling of emptiness you have when a good, sturdy piece of furniture leaves a room, and suddenly there is too much space to be filled? It’s exactly that. Except for the fact that here we talk of wooden furniture, and we both are living, breathing pieces of exquisite art. People who took a part of each other’s hearts when we left, and so it bled and it hurt. The lovely words you whispered in my ear slowly become the ghosts that haunted the passages of my mind mansion. I t suddenly fell in love with melancholy, and began making love to windy nights and lonely walks. Remember the precipice I spoke of? When we said goodbye at the coffee shop ,that,’twas the fall from it. The fall was bound to hurt. But magically, I didn’t die. Magically, I recovered from it all, and magically, I might, someday, even dare to walk to that precipice again, dare to fall in love again. Love teaches you to believe in magic, and to see a world of stardust and pretty things. Even heartbreak doesn’t take that feeling away. It doesn’t go away ever again.
Even though we said goodbye at the coffee shop, the magic that you created, didn’t just end.