I tried to tell you, I really did. I rehearsed what I would say for days, fearing stunned silence. Your scent overpowered me. That soft, gentle pleasing smell made me feel safe. You and I knew instinctively what to do, how to act, what to feel.
Years later I look back on that as the turning point in so many ways. A fool would point to its consequences, but the moment itself was a scar that ran directly across my heart. Sometimes it was a painful reminder of what I lost, other times it was a mark of remembrance. Every year I mark that moment when everything changed, to the second. To you it probably meant little. To me, it meant everything. You even said yourself you had forgotten. I should have taken that as a sign.
It took just one second, but it was the moment that defined me because it was all I had left. Sometimes, I tried to forget that it happened, but that seemed to be more painful than its recall.
All you said was ‘Okay’ but it was the way you said it, the way you reacted, the way you moved that stayed with me.
Years later. ‘Okay’ was not the most powerful word anymore. Instead something else came. It wasn’t even a word, nor a smile. It wasn’t even anything really. I just knew from that moment ‘Okay’ had lost its relevance. Another breeze wafted through and I knew I had changed. That darkly lit room with its speckles of sun popping through the blinds on the windows would now be replaced.
Replaced so easily, but never gone.