Unwritten

Some stories are best left unwritten. Those words stuck to him forever. It was the night of the Sting concert and she said it to him as they walked back from the concert towards her home. He wanted to hold her hand as they walked but couldn’t get himself to it. They were speaking of stories and moments when she said these words to him. Out of the blue.

He never felt her as close to him as he did that moonlit night. She looked beautiful in her black dress. He was as always in his denims but she had dressed up especially for that evening. He remembered being close enough to her to smell her beautiful perfume as Sting sang Fields of Gold. He almost wanted to kiss her at that point.

As they walked leisurely, he asked her if she was getting late getting back home. It’s ok I don’t have to hurry she replied in her usual calm manner. He felt a surge of happiness run through his entire body at the mere thought of a few extra moments with her. He felt an inexplicable joy inside of him that evening.

The skipping of the vinyl brought him back to the present. It had been ages since he heard that particular record. He had stopped listening to it since the day she left town for good. Without a word. Without any goodbyes. Memories were all that he had left with him. He didn’t even have a single photograph of hers. He never ever wrote a line to her or received any from her.

Some stories are best left unwritten. Her words came back to haunt him again that rainy evening. He kept staring out of his window blankly as the record kept skipping at the same part over and over again.

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