The Dreams That Were Dreamt

Chapter Three: Owen

When a heart breaks you can truly feel it. It's just like how everyone says it is; a tale as old as time was the story of us. The story had been told numerous times. And stories like ours would continue to be told for as long as the world continued to remain a cocoon in the sea of nothingness. People like us had always existed. Don't ever forget it. 

It's something that happens in your chest. When a heart breaks it feels like an outer layer, made out of glass, shatters and exposes it raw. It leaves it feeling more like a gaping wound than a vital organ. Nothing could have prepared me for it. He was gone and his name was now lost. It was lost to the point where my closed ones would've asked – You sure you didn't just make him up? I was sure. How could I have made something that beautiful up? The connection was broken, but it had been there. Now began the work of trying to cope with it. Coping with the fact that our faces weren't going to be captured in the same pictures anymore. Where had you gone? Could I find you again? I had to. I just had to. And that's when Owen came along.

At the time when I met Owen, I didn't think much of him. Was he my savior? Perhaps. The buoy to keep me from drowning? Maybe I wanted him to be. I was mainly looking for someone to get him out of my system. Maybe I thought to some extent that if I could get someone else to fill the void as swiftly as possible, everything would be alright again. Like nothing had ever happened. But if I didn't know it back then I definitely know now that this would just be a quick fix. It wasn't going to be that easy. And that desperate need to fill the void runs the risk of accepting just about anything. If I only knew.

I had briefly spoken to Owen before. We had chatted and, to some degree, flirted on and off on one of the various hook up apps for some time. He was always the one that had made contact with me, but we never made it to arrange a meeting. The conversation followed the pattern of ''Hi, how are you?'', to a sexual innuendo, to a ''what would you do if I was there?'', to a winky face and was repeated a few days later. You know the story. 

The first month or two after I had forgotten his name, I was still naively convinced that I could find him again and that what was now was only temporary. But as time went on and I hadn't reached a breakthrough in my methods of reaching him, I began accepting the idea that forgetting was the only way to move forward. So, I made contact with Owen one morning and invited him over.

And over he came. That same day he arrived at my apartment and knocked on my door. It was late at night, maybe around two in the morning. He had told me it was going to be late, because he was working a night shift. I told him I didn't mind. I would be up anyway. During the time, I didn't have a permanent job. I took a couple of online courses and some hours here and there at a local grocery store when they needed help. My life was rather flexible and I enjoyed the freedom. I wasn't living a glamorous life, but I made do. 

Before his arrival I had tried my best to make my place look presentable. The rituals were intricate. I had done the dishes, picked up the t-shirts off the floor and bought toilet paper. I didn't bother changing the sheets on my bed, for obvious reasons, but I still managed to make it look decent. Before opening the door, I blew out the scented candle that was placed by my window and escorted the smoke out the window. I didn't want to make it seem like I was trying too hard.

I was surprised when I opened the door that he looked different from what I thought he would. People usually did. It caught me off-guard and made me a little nervous. He was wearing a black leather jacket over a white tank top, dark blue jeans and a pair of converse. I invited him in and on his initiative, we hugged. The greeting part during an encounter like this was always so unpredictable. We were probably going to see each other naked but do we hug? Shake hands? Do I say ''It's nice to meet you'' or have we already met?

''I'm sorry that it got so late,'' he excused himself and began to untie his shoes.

''No worries, I'm glad you're here,'' I said and leaned against the back of my couch.