She remembers it all. The papers strewn about the floor as smoke cascaded down the mouths of the people inside, and swirled to the top of the ceiling. She remembers when the flashing lights became too much, when she moved and left the room and saw him.
It was him.
Just standing outside breathing the fresh air outside.
He glanced her way with a small smile, and when she came to stand next to him, he spoke.
She'll remember how his voice left the impression of a cloud in her thoughts.
Soft, dark, and stormy like the clouds she would see the next day.
He said something, and it lead to her own laugh. He chuckled along with her, and for the rest of the time until dawn reared its petty face they told stories about the stars.
She remembers how young she was.
One night led to numbers being exchanged, to late night calls, texts at work, and meet ups at the cafe around the corner. Eventually, the days turned to months and months into a fateful year. Her family opposed when he proposed at first on their one year anniversary, saying it was too early. He insisted, as did she, but without consent, never got married. The woman's hands skim over stacks of papers in her office, placed just waist height.
This was where he spent his time. In the small apartment with her was where life was. She remembers the days they would just sleep as soon as they got home, and she remembers the nights they spent awake.
She remembers distinctly standing up, just facing the window as the warm sunlight streamed in. He had his arms around her waist as he buried his face in her stomach, and as she drank coffee with one hand played with his hair with the other.
Perhaps she remembers more than she would like to. On her fingers lay an array of cuts, because she remembers once that he said he'd love to see her cook at least once for dinner. As the woman steps out of her apartment complex, she turns towards the same sun, embraces the warmth just like that lazy day. When she directs her attention back to the road she walks, a man stands. He's aged, so finely, but she remembers.
She remembers the arch of his brows, the curve of his lips, the sharpness of his jawline. Once again she thinks she may remember more than she'd like to.. He looks at her as if she's someone he knows, but as she walks closer and closer, the look fades just a bit to confusion. As if the beating of his heart doesn't match the slowness of his memory.
When the woman walks past him he doesn't know why, but he pays attention to her hands. All of her fingers have an array of rings on them, but on the left ring finger, nothing is there. It gives him an odd sense of relief. As she walks farther away, towards work, a tear falls. The woman knows she remembers more than she wants to, but until he remembers, she'll keep on remembering the taste of his lips, and the cause of the scar on his forehead that cuts his right eyebrow.
Until he remembers the feeling of her love, until the small dashes of recognition become longer, she'll keep remembering.
He keeps on trying, everyday learning more of who he was. Somehow, he never leans of the woman he watches and holds a fondness to everyday. He knows though, he'll remember. He has to.
Thus, the man and the woman go in different directions with different promises for the same result.
