Stream of consciousness

I guess you could say that our love came in waves. Like the ocean when the tide comes in. You were so far away, you seemed untouchable to me, the tempting apple in the Garden of Eden. It started with a simple need. That was the first wave.

It was purely physical. I wanted, needed, desired you. It was a physical longing that would not leave me alone. All I ever thought about was how your skin would feel under my fingers, how my lips would feel on yours. It led to an impulsive decision influenced with a lot of alcohol.

During the end of the year party I found you in the raucous Great Hall. You were standing by the wall, trying to blend in and not be seen. I knew that I was the last one that you wanted to see. We've hated each other for years now, and the empty space between us was constantly filled with things that we could never say to each other.

"Thank you."

It was such a simple thing to say. But I could never bring myself to say it. You looked up and stared straight into my eyes. It seemed like you were trying to tell if I was being sincere. I was.

Things were a whirl after that. We ended up drinking too much whiskey and talking about things that we both never wanted to remember: the war, the death and destruction. The hate and where it originated from; the injustice and bias that everyone held against you because of your family and choices.

You told me the truth about the death and pain you caused me, and I believed you because I was caught up in the moment and the feeling of you close to me was intoxicating. We went for a walk through the castle. It was my last night here and I wanted to remember it forever.

We ended up in an empty office. Everyone was in the Great Hall having a good time but we were here. Maybe it was the serene silence or the way you looked at me at that moment. I felt like I had to do something. My fingers reached forward to move a strand of hair away from your eyes. I remember the look was dark and somewhat scary. I knew that if given the chance you would hurt me again, but I couldn't stop.

Our lips met and the rest is memories of hot breath against my neck and the feel of your hands on my hips. It was nothing romantic, afterwards I cried and ran away so you would not see my tears. I know what you would say about that weakness.

It was another year until we saw each other again. That night was still burned into my memory where I revisited it frequently. I saw you across the room in a Ministry hearing. You looked good. Your hair was longer and the lines in your face made you look sophisticated and intelligent. I found out that day that we would be working together on an assignment. It was the most awkward moment of my life. You couldn't even meet my eyes and there was minimal speech. It took three months for the both of us to look at each other, and, at the same time say, "Sorry."

I guess that's where the second wave started. It was the emotional wave. It's where the trust and respect came and the feeling of comfortable contentment. We went out to dinner a few times and talked about anything that came to mind. The best times; however, were when we were at my house: you, sitting in the enormous armchair, me, sitting on your lap. And you would talk to me, never expecting a response but just talking and watching the flames in the grate. I would listen and rest my head against your chest, feeling the vibrations from your voice swim across my skin and sink into me and give me that warm feeling of perfection. These were the moments that I lived for. Your voice was like the rush of waves over smooth pebbles in the ocean. That gravelly reverberating sound would resound inside of me and echo in my memories for years to come. The warmth of your body would keep me sated like the fire in the hearth could never do.

It was now that I realized that I could never hurt you. My respect and trust for you ran too deep to cause you any intentional harm. This was the second wave of my love for you, and it was the most profound and fathomless love I have ever felt.

But of course, with love comes loss and pain. That spark became dull and we both needed room to breathe and change. I understand it now but at the time, when you told me that you had to go I was heartbroken. I thought it betrayal, treachery. I yelled and screamed and cried over the loss of your presence.

Yet even now, your presence lingers here, like that last wave became real and washed it all away, but those last grains of sand stay stuck to my skin and refused to leave. I still sit in that armchair and watch the flames in the hearth. I still go to your favorite restaurant. But life goes on and I have to keep living. It's been three years since you left and I have changed more than you know.

At first my friends were worried. They know that there was someone in my life but I refused to tell them who it was. They would never understand the way I felt about you. They still held a grudge against you from the war that has long passed.

And now I sit in the armchair where those bittersweet memories were made and think of you. The fire now turned to charcoal so I need a blanket to keep warm. You told me not to live in the past but I just can't help it. The only place you can stay untouched is in my memories. This is the third wave of love: The loss of love.

They say that it's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all; and it's true. I would rather be sitting here, remembering you fondly than being cold and confused, thinking of what could have been.

The memories of us bring tears to my eyes, and I let them run freely down my cheeks. I close my eyes and remember the feel of your fingers as they would gently rub those tears away. The feel of your lips as you would gently kiss my forehead and lean in close so that I can wrap my arms around your neck and you would carry me up to bed. We would both lie down and be wrapped up in the blanket like Egyptian mummies, our legs entwined together and arms wrapped around each other.

I open my eyes and look into yours.

"You came back."

"As if I could stay away."