As soon as the song came on the radio, there was no denying its sad romantic notes that bordered on Latin bolero. It was about a poet, she thought. She really should brush up on her Spanish.

But more than that, the song haunted her. It was like a soundtrack from long ago, where her mind drew recollections of memories, and the line between reality and imagination had blurred.

In a small cafe, having afternoon conversations with a man. She had no doubt this man loved her, intensely, fiercely. He loved her, soul first and then body. In that manner. Then he says something, a joke, which made her red in color while brushing this color away as she stifled out a laugh.

Love was plain in her eyes, and he saw it. Together, they walked out that warm cafe, draining their cups of coffee, and out into the cold rain. He was ready, seeming as he had an umbrella tucked under his arm and which he opened for them both.

The song ends, and she jolts awake. The memory with it, also gone. Where is he? Where are the happy fulfilled eyes, brimming with love? She looked back in her lonely eyes, empty, unfulfilled.

It’s only your imagination, she reminded herself. And she wished it wasn’t.

 

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Published by Joanne Giselle Degamo