It was a moment made in the movies: I saw her from across a crowded room, an angel with golden hair and stormy-blue eyes. In that moment, the world around me was gone; there was no world except for her. And so, without rational thought, without fear, I approached her. I couldn’t not approach her.
This time was different.
This time magic was present.
This time was the end of my life as I knew it.
We didn’t share a brain because she had thoughts of her own. She didn’t finish my sentences because she had things of her own to say. And as disparate that sounds, we connected on so many other levels. I wanted to dance, she wanted to teach me. She liked the same funky 70’s music, I cranked up the tunes. There was a wonderfully peculiar rhythm to our relationship. Light and airy, deep and soulful, it had the makings of a relationship that would last forever.
What happened? Life happened. Life happened and like so many other beautiful things, we were soon over and she was gone. I should move on with my life, shouldn’t I?
But I can’t.
Something very odd has happened. I’m not mooning over the past. I have not spent my nights thinking about what we used to do. Instead, I find myself missing the future. I miss the apartment we would’ve shared with all the art-deco furniture we saw in that little shop on Oak Lawn. I miss the dinners I would’ve taken her to and the dances she would have taught me. I miss that I won’t be able to watch her blonde hair change to gray and tell her she’s still as beautiful as the day we met. Sadly, the past eclipsed our future; fears of regret erased our hopes. For my part, I can only hope for her happiness, which is all I ever wanted anyway.
Jewish mystical tradition says that the Angel of Death is so beautiful, that you fall in love with her when you see her. And you love her so much your soul leaves your body to be with her.
I’ve seen her.