Time, Fleeting Love

This week, we’re asking you to consider things from a different point of view — to walk a mile in someone’s shoes. Leave your moccasins and bunny slippers at the door, and tell us a tale from a fully-immersed perspective that is not your own.


I still remember the day we met as if it just happened. I can see it replaying in front of my eyes as if I’m watching a movie. I see it. I see it all. Not as if it happened yesterday, but as if it happened minutes ago. I can still see his face as he looked at me and held out his hand. I still remember how he pulled me gently towards him and we began to spin slowly around the room. I assume that I was standing alone by the bar hoping that some handsome young man would ask me to dance. I vaguely remember the song playing and the other dancers around us, but what I really only saw was him. His blue eyes, his dark hair, his smile that reached his eyes and caused a slight crinkle at the edges. I remember his hand on the small of my back as he slowly dipped me and brought me back towards his body. I don’t even remember the shoes I was wearing or the dress I had on. I only remember him. I still remember everything about him.

During our first dance we never even spoke, we simply moved to the music and let our bodies do the talking. I met him for the 2nd time two weeks later at a coffee shop not far from the dance hall.  He stood in the doorway as if transfixed by what he saw. I myself, found it hard to look away. I had, in the deepest depths of my heart, imagined this moment many times. He was on my mind even when I didn’t realize it. He crept in when I least expected it and when I most needed it. But I always reminded myself to be practical about it. There was never really a chance that I would see the beautiful man who took my breathe away with a single glance. After all, I had previously never been so lucky.

But as soon as I saw his face again. As soon as I saw him smile, a smile that I knew was for me and only me, I knew what I may have always known. I loved him. In a fleeting and time consuming way. I had loved him from the very first moment.


She was unlike anything I had ever seen before. An angel, maybe. But I couldn’t be sure. I had never seen an angel before either. She stood alone by the bar in a long light blue lace dress. She had on dark blue heels that she didn’t look entirely comfortable in. She did, however, look lonely. She head tipped toward her drink but she immediately put it back down with a look of defeat on her dark features. My father told me to never ask a lonely woman to dance. Look for the eager ones. The eager ones will show you a good time but leave when they’ve gotten what they came for. But a lonely woman. A lonely woman might just make you fall in love with her. Love was something my father was never after. I wasn’t sure yet if I could say the same for myself.

As if of my own subconscious volition, I was standing beside her with my hand, palm facing up, reaching toward her. She looked up, dark eyes focusing on me, and slowly put her hand in mine and let me whisk her away onto the middle of the dance floor. We spun for what felt like years and in those short minutes I felt as if I had always done with dance, with this woman, every moment of my pent up life.

She never spoke and I didn’t dare break the silence. There was only the small intake of breathe as I placed a hand on the small of her back, dipped her and brought her back towards my body, our eyes meeting again and this time transfixing. It was as if we had suddenly melded together, into one eternal being, neither pushing or pulling from the other.

I didn’t see her again for two weeks and in those weeks I had a tightening in my head and in my heart that I had never felt before. But the minute I saw her, sitting in the coffee shop, head low towards a book and her cup, the tightness lifted and I could once again breathe easy. I knew then what I supposed I had known from that very first moment.

I really should have listened to my father.


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