The story so far:
A fair haired woman sits down on the seat to his right. She has pale skin with light brown eyes and maple dawn long hair. She is wearing an elegant cream dress that only reveals her petite ankles and her ample breasts with thin straps wrapping around her fragile shoulders. Within moments of her arrival her mere appearance causes a stunned gawk from the old man; her robust crimson lips cry out for attention. She crosses her legs; her small feet are slightly shielded by sandals as she places her lips gently upon a glass containing the same elixir. She offers a smile towards the conversationalist and places her glass at her feet. The old man feels a certain coquetry in the thick ambiance, he is unsure if they have met before.
“What about that love though, did you just give up on it?” The beauty asks with a slight curiosity in her enchanting voice.
“It is not as though I just forgot her, she was always in my memory yet from the point of me losing her I realized the fleeting absurdity in such happiness.”
“Is it perhaps you were so smitten by the loss?” The beauty asks,
“At first maybe, but then I realized the word love’s ambiguity. It is a mirror with sharp edges, cutting every time you try to grasp it. Once I learned that I knew it was not a major loss; merely another lifeless being in the waves of time.”
“How did you lose her?” The beauty asks hesitantly,
He takes another sip of the bitter drink. He remembers her image, maple brown hair, light brown eyes, pale skin, and a dress. She is waiting for him by the sea; since he was suppose to return any day for her. She is pregnant. The wind blows fiercely, assailing her resolve but she holds strong sitting among the harsh sand; it penetrates her clothing, burrowing deep within her skin as time passes. Behind her burns the city she knew, her memories, childhood, friends, family, and life. She continues to gaze towards the ominous sea with a tear falling from her dead eyes. With time she became a mere statue upon that forgotten beach. A beacon of love longed and love lost. The old man takes another drink, as the waves wash upon the coast beneath him.
“She was a casualty of hatred. I was on my way home from war, coming home to nothing. Everything was ash; she vanished into a wall full of names. Yet, in those names she found purpose, since without such a memorial she would not be known. She was blinded by love but saw me for what I represented and not how others viewed me.”
“I am sorry…” The beauty says placing her hand gently on his.
“Don’t be, it is near the brink of my mind.”
“But should that one instance deter you from such a pleasurable feeling?” The amour asks,
“Why not? It is not as if I didn’t try. It was a long time we had been together, and I felt love for her that I had never felt for anyone else. But, I was not able to stay by her side, nor was she able to stand by mine. I should not think how my life would have been if things would have went differently, because that is a waste of the little time I have left.”
“Love is not only one of the most desirable things one can ask for, but is also something you sought yourself. Are you not depriving yourself of your greatest pleasure?” The beauty asks gazing directly into his aged pupils.
He looks back at her with a slight smile, enjoying the engaged discussion he is apart of.
“I would say you are right, love is one pleasure sought dearly. Yet I found it and was encompassed by it for years. It was wonderful-that I do remember-and wouldn’t alter such an experience for anything, but with her gone I realized the burden such a pleasure bears, choosing to cherish the moment and pursue truth rather than be immersed again.”
“She only wanted you to be happy.” The beauty says,
“And I owe her a great deal for the time she did make me so.”
The sun sinks under the horizon; the sky is filled with scattered stars and lights. Many people have left the bar, the empty tables, absent voices, place the moment in a stasis. He can hear the palm trees breathe in the distance, as the wind springs life into the night. The pace between breathes has slowed down for the old man. He can feel his heavy heart conversing, its power dwindles as the minutes pass through. The woman rises and leaves; offering a warm smile and a wave from her fragile hand; vanishing into the deep rims of the room where no light shines. A young man takes her place; his hair is at his shoulders, dark, straight and parted in the middle of his head. He is wearing a long sleeved shirt which exposes his chest, displaying the scars that greet onlookers. His jade eyes have symbols of youth still in them, yet showing signs of fear and curiosity. The old man takes another drink from the aging ale; its quantity has almost run its course.