Holding Torches

“So, tell me about her?”

I really cannot. I never spent that much time with her. We met up four, maybe five times. I can’t tell you how she holds her cup to drink coffee or whether she unconsciously places her elbows on the table while she eats.

“You fell in love with someone you didn’t know?”

No. I fell in love with someone I knew. I knew her, don’t get me wrong. I knew what made her tick, why she was so motivated, how she’d react to things that had happened in the news. It’s hard not to know someone you talk to everyday.

“You spoke every day?”

Every day since we first met online. Every day.

“Do you still talk now?

No.

“Why not?”

Because I loved her, and she did too. But not in the way I wanted.

“How did she love you?”

As a friend. Not as a lover. It was a painful experience, my drifting apart. It was a hard decision. I wanted more, and couldn’t get it. And I didn’t particularly like being reminded of the fact.

“How did she feel?”

She understood. But I guess her understanding didn’t make it any less painful. But my sanity was at stake, and I chose that over her.

“Do you still love her?”

Yes. But that doesn’t matter. I couldn’t move on, and she did. So I think that’s the end of that.

“You sound like you’re in a lot of pain.”

Probably, but I’m too numb to feel anything at the moment. It’s just that –

“What?”

Well…sometimes I look at my fingers and expect to see them charred.

“Charred?”

Charred. I’ve been holding a torch for her for so long, surely my hands must be burnt.

 

7 thoughts on “Holding Torches

  1. Hahahah. That was really good. Charred finger man. Seems whilst you literally and metaphorically have failed to make no significant impressions /prints on her; she definitely left her prints on you whilst depriving you of a fingerprint in the long run. Hahahaha. Maaad ting. Fui I hope you plan to be a writer. You ought to publish a book of short stories.

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