listen:
I walked down a street that seemed much bigger in my memory. Where were the dangers our mothers warned us about? It was a perfectly ordinary row of houses. Small front gardens were tucked behind hedges in every stage of growth from tight restriction to careless abandon.
I stopped outside the wildest hedge of all, overgrown and formless. Branches glossy with recent rain reached damp fingers towards me. A faint scent of unseen roses blew past. The pale green front door was peeling and the windows were blank. Still, your voice drifted down to me.
“You’re early!”
“You’re late.” I tapped my watch in mock anger but my lips betrayed me. “As usual.”
“Sorry, wait for me.” You flashed that unforgettably brilliant smile, and vanished.
Alone again, I turned my collar up against light but persistent drizzle. Suddenly colder, I wished past and present would unite into the future you promised before we slipped through each other’s fingers, and were lost.
Wait for me.
That’s what you always said. And I did.
I came back, but all I found were ghosts whispering in the wind.
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