About a love story ...

“Ren can’t write a love story, Ren can’t write a love story”. The kids at the playground make a circle around me and keep yelling “Ren can’t write a love story”. I look at them, point at each one of them and yell back “SURE I CAN WRITE A LOVE STORY”. “Oh really ?” She looks at me and smiles “Prove it !”.


The following text is entirely fictional. Resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental. :)

It seems so long ago. The last thing you said to me was ‘I miss you loads’. I wanted to tell you so many things but how could I know this would be our last conversation. I went to the seaside on holiday and our story ended.

So long ago. I remember your black eyes. Black as the night, full of love and lust. I once called them dark brown and you replied “meh, black !!” (I loved your ‘meh’s’). Black as your hair. Your hair … the day you went to the hairdresser and came back home, hiding it under the hood of your hoodie, teasing me, then showing me while making funny faces … God, you were so gorgeous.

It seems so long ago
I would see your writing
On a postcard or a note
And your stories would excite me

Loving you wasn’t easy. So many nights I couldn’t sleep, thinking about us. The fights we had … the breaking up’s and making up’s. The good times - you in my arms, dancing with you, skating with you in winter, running behind you while shopping – the bad times – you were so full of emotions *sighs* … We were so different, a small town boy and a city girl. A fashionista and a guy always dressed in black shirt and blue jeans …

My hands travel through this box of memories – pictures, the crazy ones from that photo booth, the ones from the carnival where I won a ‘Tortured Bear’ for you, us sitting on a tire swing. My finger lifts the feather pendant, I smile, put it around my neck and look at myself in the mirror. It was a present you gave me, 2 feathers with our names on it – you had the same. I once found the label of the shop and visited it, just to have a look where you were before. Some other note to myself, an address of a shop where they had the Proenza Lace booties. I wanted to buy them for you for our anniversary, the one that never would happen.

Today I’m far away from those memories but I’m still there, feeling like Joe Dassin’s ‘Indian summer’. I’m thinking of you. Where are you ? What are you doing ? Do I still exist for you ? I picture you being happy, successful, doing the things you always wanted to do. There’s this guy walking next to you, holding an umbrella to protect you from the monsoon. He loves you and you love him. He’s the one pulling your nose, dropping kisses all over your face, cheering you up when you’re down …

Back on the train
I ask why did I come again
Can I confess?
I've been hangin' 'round your old address

I always believed in you. One day you would be a shining star, simple as that – you already were my star. And you arrived … I’m proud, even if it’s without me.

If you really love her, let her go ...

It’s hot outside. I should go and mow the lawn. I don’t feel like mowing the lawn. It’s my last week off, next week back to work. Same ol’ same ol’. The mountains are already far away, only the memories and pictures remain … The pictures and memories ...I put the box away, check my mailbox in vain and go outside …

The kids at the playground have gone quiet. I look around, lift my chin and whisper “See ? A love story !”. They turn their backs on me and go away.