It is Easy to Say "So Long"

There was no door to close. There was no chapter to look forth to. Just a title, unwritten through the promise each made, separately, when they bought their train tickets.

And the promise was different.  And the promise was never shared.

When the next train arrived, and the doors opened, they forgot about the promise. The title was still the same, and they liked it. Five simple words, a cruel sentence. But they did not care.

.

The ocean was calm and did not smell of ocean. It was a vast blue near which the smell of Dutch dry cigars floated freely till late in the night. They were close to the North Pole and the sun had lost its north. At midnight, under sunny skies, they waited for the ocean to smell of salt and rejected promises.

It would be morning soon, if the sun sets somewhere. Blue eyes and fair skin would walk the streets in search of someone ready to hear a story. Brown eyes would stand out in the quiet crowd, near the North Pole, on a sunny summer midnight.

Then, they will talk about the promise. They will be surprised how things have changed since the last train left, miles away, on a November night. That the promise was about the moment—no looking back, no guessing about what awaits. Just the moment, in full and inseparable of itself. And then the train, one line going west, another one south.

But they did not talk. Not about the promise, nor about the November train. They just looked away, touched each other goodbye and went into the city, looking for someone to listen to their story.

And they smiled and looked at each other one more time: the story now was different.

.. There was no door to open. There was no chapter to rewrite.                                                

 July 4, 2012

©Vahé Kazandjian, 2013