Our story started of many years ago. Our story is one which had to be lived and felt before it could have been written. A beautiful story, a painful story, a story of life. Mountain highs, ocean deeps, and everything in between. Cultures as far apart as the traveling distance through the air. However two countries bound together through history.
When we first met I found an energy which could take me up to the moon. Your smile was intense, bright. Your eyes were filled with stardust from the night blue skies. Old voices of the sea reflecting in your words. You spoke a language of spirituality, ambition, and wisdom. An old soul. A spiritual body which has lived for years. Everything about you blew me away. Your red leather jacket and checkered barrette made me feel I lived in the 50’s. Your mouth and hands so soft, I felt like touched by an angel. When I left I was only hoping that one day your lips will carry my name. Again.
Years later, flashbacks are pulling me through memories and hidden moments. Time has passed, but our story continued. A connection through the soul. A flickering light of radiation and energy when we meet again at the train station. Memories and the present are tangled, mixed and merged. A spicy cocktail of the past and now.
But our story wasn’t meant to last. It is one which had to be lived and felt, but not continued. Because some stories are not there for ever after. They need a full stop, a period, an exclamation mark. However every story, every book, every letter has a blanc page. A little corner where there is a freedom to continue. Because after every punctuation there is space. Space to be filled or intentionally left blanc.