It's been 3 years. 3 years since I've been here. Beneath the swiftly falling autumn leaves, that drifted slowly from side to side like feathers. This small hill was exactly how I remembered it. The tattered bench still lies in its rightful place by the side of the old tree's trunk. This spot still peered gracefully down towards town and valiantly across the horizon. Above it all, the sky was a cascade of orange and purple casting its light onto all that it sees. This scene was like a painting seen through a mirror, with its painted perfection and the unfaltering gleam. But the mirror acts like a barrier. No matter how close you get to the mirror you won't be able to touch the actual painting and if you look at it from the wrong angle you'd overlap and cover it up. It was delicate.
I could stand here all day, drowning in the throbbing comfort and sadness that came with it. Being here felt real, but distant at the same time. Yet, it filled the eagerness I'd held and made me complete, filling a void I'd learnt to supress. I'd loved it here, both before and after I'd met him. But the memories we'd shared together were the most abundant. The ones that made this that much more surreal.
That was probably the reason I'm standing here now, after so long. I still remember the words of the pact he'd whispered as we part, going our seperate paths. '3 years time, if we still remember, if fate decides so. On this date, the 25th of June, we'll meet here, again. But for now it's goodbye.' His voice was low and glazed over in his cold demeanor, but it was free of hesitance. He'd said what he knew I had to say, knowing how hard it was. It was the only way for the both of us.
Somehow, that small glint of hope I had that he'd come here was starting to waver.
Now that I think about it, he'd probably moved on, forgotten. As I should have too, but not coming here felt wrong. If he'd come and I hadn't, I would regret it for the rest of my life. So it was better to face the disappointment then be left to wonder, 'what could have been'.
