I am standing in a corner of the big ballroom filled with people dressed in their very best. I am here for a girl's coronation. She is a friend's daughter, so it is only "proper" for me to attend. I hate these parties; everyone gets dressed up and make a big deal because someone has come of age. I do not understand the fuss, this kind of thing happens all of the time. What makes this one special?
My friend appears at the top of the grand staircase and the ballroom falls silent as he welcomes the young girl into the room. The guests clap and he leads her down to the floor. He leads her in the first dance and all gaze in awe at their beautiful, flawless waltz.
More than anything, I want to leave. But it is rude to leave a ceremony without a dance with whom it is for, so I make my way to the middle of the dance floor. The first dance ends, and I ask for the honor of the next. She accepts and I leader her in a soft step about the ballroom.
She looks up at me with young, innocent eyes. She is ten years my junior, and yet, I find myself staring into her beautiful orbs. She shyly turns her head from my gaze as a light pink dusts her cheeks. I smile at her, and she returns it kindly. I ask her name. She tells me she is called Lili.
Beautiful, isn't it? She was named for a flower as delicate and beautiful as she is.
We continue to dance long after our first has ended. We talk and laugh as those waiting for a dance slowly decide that they will not get the chance and walk away to dance with someone else. As the party goes on, we escape to the garden for some fresh air and time to ourselves. We talk freely to one another and I drop my mannerisms, but she does not mind.
She tells me about her hopes, dreams, and her desire to one day leave her father's house. She hopes to see the world one day, and she dreams of settling down in a little nowhere town, getting married, and having a family. Her voice is small, but her ambitions are big and her future is bright and I listen to every word with bated breath. We stop at the lighted fountain as she looks up into my eyes and I tell her I want the same.
The pink tint from before appears on her cheeks again as she closes her eyes. I lean closer, and my lips meet hers. I close my eyes and wish for this moment to never end.
We part, but our faces remain close as I take her hands in mine. She smiles softly to herself as I wonder what she is thinking about. She asks me if I will come back to visit her after the night was over. I tell her yes. Her hand tightens around mine as the smile on her face grows bigger.
I go to see her often after that night. We spend hours talking about nothing and everything, and soon we come to know everything about one another. I know her favorite flower and her favorite book, all of her hobbies, and I know she is not only beautiful, but knowledgeable. So much so, that my education is put to shame. She knows my favorite song, my favorite food, and all that makes me who I am.
And she accepts me.
Some time after these meetings began, her father -my friend- confronts me about meeting with her. He wants me to stop seeing her, as he disapproves of what may come of our relationship. He says it is to assure she does not get hurt. But she does not care about being hurt. She tells me that she would rather live a life of pain with me, than try to live without me.
I tell her that I love her.
She tells me that she loves me as well.
I visit her daily after that. Days turn to weeks and weeks to months, and I watch my Lili blossom into an even more beautiful young woman. As time passes slowly, each of her firsts become mine. I want to marry her.
But, for some reason unbeknownst to me, my feelings change.
The years I spent with her had lost their meaning, and I cannot help but hate myself. Everything we did together, all we gave one another, all of it, was gone. Like I had thrown it all away.
I am her first love, nothing would ever change that. But it is called first love for a reason; more will follow after it. And so is true for her. She waits a few long years before she falls in love again. She marries a man she once considered a brother, and they have a wonderful life together in a sleepy little town in Switzerland, or so I hear.
I spend the rest of my life alone. Sure, women come and go, some of whom I truly had a future with, but none of them come close to what I had with Lili. I spend my days thinking about her and her happiness. And how I could have made her happy.
Before I know it, I am old and sick. I lay in my bed, weak and ready for my life to come to an end.
And just as my eyelids heavy, Lili appears in the doorway. Her eyes are wet with tears and a small smile tugs at her lips as she slowly approaches my bed. She bids me hello, the same familiar tone she said goodbye to me with all those years ago. Her beauty preserved well, as she is still the most amazing person I have ever seen. Her face has few wrinkles, a sure sign that her life had been and still is easy. Her hair, once golden as the sun, had lost its lustrous color and turned silver.
She sits next to my bed and tells me she is well. We talk a short while and reminisce memories of our distant past. When we touch upon why we faded from each others lives, she falls silent. After a short time she tells me that she never stopped loving me. She always hoped that I would come back and take her away.
She takes my hand in hers, and tells me that she still loves me.
And I cry.
Those feelings I thought I lost so long ago remained, deep within my heart. And it isn't too late. We spend my last hour holding on to this feeling, reliving all we did when we were young. We smile and laugh until I can no longer feel her hand in mine.
She whispers her final goodbye to me and kisses me softly , yet passionately on the lips. My vision is blurry, but I know she is smiling, but also crying. I tell her I love her as my eyes fall shut. The last thing I hear is her saying she loves me, too.
Except, she never came to see me. I never fell out of love with her. I never took any of her firsts. I did not visit her everyday. I never told her I loved, and her father never had to talk to me. I never found out how smart she was, nor did I learn about her hobbies, her favorite book or flower. I never kissed her by the fountain in the garden, nor did I learn about her hopes and dreams. We never escaped the ballroom by going out in the garden. I didn't even dance with her.
As she entered the grand ballroom, and all applauded and congratulated her for this milestone in her life, I slipped out the door and left without a word to her or her father. I have never regretted not doing something as much as I regret not sharing a dance with her.
If only I did.