Reminiscence


but let my love no longer trouble you
I do not wish to cause you any pain
- Alexander Pushkin, I Loved You


You loved her in the garden. That' s how you want to remember this.

You loved her in the garden, among the plants that had sprung into bloom between your fingers. Amongst them, Dominique had looked like some fierce, tropical blossom, transplanted into unfamiliar earth.

You loved her in the evening, lost among the candlelight, the fiery gold of her hair shining brighter than any of the flames surrounding her.

(Is that all this was for you? Just a summer fling?

You loved her beneath your fingers, caressing parts of her others might have forgotten to love; a finger along the bow of her curving collarbone, reaching out for the hollow at the nape of her neck.

You loved her, you loved her, you loved her –

She was the star in the evening for you, the light of the day.

You loved her. So you leave her, and let someone else love her the same way.

Yeah. Not that much more, I guess.)