A Collection of Imagines

Timothée

Memory Lane

Something about this feels ... nostalgic. The road that we walk on looks like it's frozen in time. It's the exact same as when I was 17. I'm walking with the same person that I lived for at that age. He walks quietly close to me and when I was 17, that would make my heart swell. Only now, I'm 19 and different. He stuffs his hands into his pockets and kicks one of the rocks on the road ahead of him. Every now and then, he looks at me and I glance at him in the corner of my eye. I watch as the summer wind escapes through his thin, blue button down shirt. His straight jeans moving in sync with his skinny legs. His messy brown hair gaining as much momentum as his shirt. His sneakers making a steady rhythm on the concrete of the sidewalk outside of the church where we used to meet up. 

"Donc, quel est son nom?" 

His voice makes me melt, but his question makes me freeze. I look down at his feet and watch as he walks on, trying to avoid the question. He sees what I'm doing and he stops abruptly. I sigh as I stare down at the sidewalk. The cracks that I once memorized makes my heart warms. I haven't thought about him since I got off of the train. The first time where I thought I was free from New York. It hasn't been the same since he left it. I haven't been the same since he left. And coming back here, I felt like I was back to being 17 and away from all restraint. Here he is asking me about my captor. "Alex." He stares at me and I erupt in heat. His kind brown eyes remind me of those days we spent lounging around his summer home and swimming pool. He looks down the street, making me cold due to the lack of eye contact. He moves his gaze down to my feet as he steps forward. His warmth is placed on me again when he looks into my eyes. He furrows his eyebrows when he opens his mouth. 

"Es-tu amoureux de lui?" 

My head reels at his question. He's just as insecure as I am. I move my body to fully face him. Our faces a few inches apart and I shake my head from side to side. In the corner of my eye, I watch as his hand moves up to my face. He moves my hair out of the way and place himself on my cheek. His other hand clasps mine. 

"Es-tu amoureux de moi?"

My hands go to his hips and I smile at his question, giving him the answer. He lets out a small chuckle. He leans forward and places his forehead on mine. 

"Uhhhh." 

He starts to laugh against me and I laugh with him. He closes his eyes and bring my hands up to massage the back of his neck. I move my head down and I search for his eyes. His gaze is placed on me again. 

"Merci." 

"C'est ne pas problem." He laughs again as he leans closer. He pulls me into him as he places his hands on the small of my back. He places his lips on top of mine and I melt again. Just like when I was 17 and releasing that I couldn't live without my first love. And here I am today, 19 with a past in New York, kissing the man that I need to be with outside the chapel in Crema, Italy.