The Meaning of Love

I sit on the edge of a hard, solitary park bench, waiting, wringing my hands over and over again, my knuckles becoming white and dry in the cold, winter air. My teeth clench together with apprehension, a grim line set upon my pale lips, my anxious eyes darting from side to side to catch a glimpse of the man I was expecting. The man I loved…

“Meet me at the corner of Oakwood Park four-thirty this afternoon,” he had said to me this morning. What could he possibly have to tell me that was so important we couldn’t wait until we saw each other tonight? We were to celebrate our anniversary this evening. My mood had been filled with excitement all week. I could just imagine the two of us, sitting at our own private table in our favourite restaurant, exchanging shy looks of love. Two years since our first date! Time flies when you are in love. But now, my love was mixed with confusion. What is he going to tell me?

I think about if for what seems to be a very long five minutes. The weak winter sun shines bleakly as I wrap my long red scarf tight around my neck. Red. The colour of love and warmth.  Red is our favourite colour. I remember so clearly the day he handed me that beautiful red rose and uttered the most powerful words in the world.

I love you.

Perhaps the thing he wanted to say was something about our future? Our future together? I claw at my head in frustration. What in the world could be so important? He had been acting a little strange these past few days, as if he was trying to make a big decision in his life. Then it hit me like a bullet.

A proposal.

I squeal in delight. People hurrying quickly home with their collars turned up against the stiff cold wind give me strange looks. Of course! Why hadn’t I thought of that before? As I dream happily with renewed optimism, I spot Julian in the distance. A tiny spot becoming a blob, the blob becoming a figure, and finally, the figure turned into the man I had come to know and love. Even after knowing him for two years, I continue to sigh at his perfection. His ruffled brown hair surrounds his handsome, mysterious face, a thick fringe covering one eye, the eye in view the mystical colours of the ocean.

“Julian! You’re here!” I say merrily. He nods back in reply. I chuckle light-heartedly, he was probably nervous about proposing to me.

“…So, what’s so important you couldn’t tell me at our anniversary tonight?” I ask, pretending to be curious. Of course I already knew what he was going to say.

“Well, the thing is, um…” he responds nervously, his face hidden in the shadows of the approaching night.

“Yes, Julian?”

“I-I thought about it and…” he says. Here it comes. The words that will change the course of our future.

“…I think we should stop seeing each other.”

It was then my heart shattered, like tiny fragments of delicate glass scattered across the floor.

“You’re lying, r-right? Stop pulling my leg,” I say, pretending to be cheerful, trying to reassure myself. He shakes his head sadly.

“I’m sorry.”

 “W-what do you mean? J-Julian?” I manage to utter.

“It was never going to work out.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I just think it’s time I moved on.”

“Moved on? From what?”

“You, Charlotte.”

“Why?!” I cry in disbelief.

“It’s hard to explain, but I think I’ve found someone else. You’re a beautiful girl, Charlotte, and I’m sorry you aren’t the one for me. I hope, for your sake, you find a better person than me, someone who can love you in return.”