rebonjour - h.s

le troisiéme jour

My boyfriend dragged me to a wedding once. I was irritated by his offer, and immediately turned it down. He eventually managed to talk me into going, but he knew I was bitter about love for some reason. I wouldn't tell him why. I could never bring myself to describe what it was like to truly be in love. I couldn't tell him about the heartbreak that consumes you when you can't love again, after you have given it your all in one go. Once you've made a few specific mistakes that result in your separation.

Years had passed since my graduation from Colombia, and I was working at a major record label in the A&R department. It was in New York, where I lived. I didn't live with my boyfriend. Life was moving quickly, so flying out to Boston for some ridiculous wedding was not in my plans. Especially because of the stranger. I never saw him around Paris after the time we spent together there. Never. I even went by the Saint-Germain area every once in a while, to try and apologize, but he was not there. I had confronted myself about loving him a year after our most incredible meeting, and the day after that evening. That day, we had stayed in bed. Until sundown, when I knew I needed to leave. Because I had been thinking way too much. I begin to realize how unhealthy it was. We were the weirdest thing that ever happened to me. He fell asleep, and I left, leaving behind nothing more than angst-filled letter. I confessed that I fell in love with him in that note. I confessed all my bottled-up feelings, which I have to say, I regret doing.

Which is why I was upset about being talked into attending the wedding. Love sucks. I didn't love my boyfriend at the time, and I didn't have the heart to tell him that I never would. I never could love again after the stranger. To call anything after him "love" would be a crime, a significant misnomer. My relationships after him seemed watered-down, and I was always bored. I had a better time in my three-ish days with him than I did in months with other guys.

My arrival to Boston Common, the site of the wedding, was early. My boyfriend was excited, since it was one of his closest friends getting married. I quickly became overwhelmed by all of the happy people swirling around me, yelping about how in love the couple was. How beautiful the bride was. Where they ordered the cake from. Her dress. I excused myself as fast as I could.

The air was nice, and warm. It was the same time of year as the concert. The one where I first met the stranger. Flowers were in full bloom, not yet wilting in the summer heat. Everything was vibrantly green, shining in the city sunlight. I liked the place. I walked along the paths, which were empty. The wedding had shut off this whole part of the Common. I appreciated that.

Physically wandering helped distract me from my mental wandering. I was still lost, and very aware of it. Especially when I heard a voice shouting from behind me. It sounded like his voice. I knew I had to be hallucinating, so I simply laughed to myself and continued on. I had to get back on the plane to New York.

But the voice kept calling. Eagerly, it called. It nagged me, due to its realness. I was in a daze, but the the voice was truly there. My heart thumped in my ears. I had to turn around, and I did so very slowly.

I should not have been surprised. This was the third time we met on a path in the woods. We followed a pattern, I suppose. But I saw green eyes. A tuxedo. A stunned smile, and flushed cheeks. His chest moved quickly, as he had been running to catch up to me.

"Oh my god," I yelled, stepping back like I had been slapped. Emotionally, I really did.

"How the hell did you end up at my wedding?" He asked, happiness and excitement in his voice.

Everything spun. Did I hear him right? His wedding. It was his wedding. I sat down on the ground, and he sat next to me. He was quiet as I had a mental breakdown. I did not feel like all of this could be happening. It had to be a dream. A horrible, yet blissfully perfect dream.