He came to her

He came to her, keen and eager to please, and she delighted in his affections, for their briefest time together. They smiled and they played, they joked and they teased. Together they talked for hours, honest and true, taking it in turns to listen. They told stories, and exchanged passions, under the sun they felt cold enough to hold hands, in the wind they felt warm enough to bound. She showed him all her old places, the ones she liked to go, and so he showed her his. They shared food, and drink, and his coat too at one point. Their time together felt so short, yet it had been so long, but neither of them noticed, neither of them cared. Deadlines and timetables meant nothing for that moment, their only commitment was each other. She could not remember a time like this in so long, and he said he couldn’t either.

So it startled him when she said, in a sweet but honest voice, “I have never seen someone more than once, before.”

He pondered it for a time, and when they parted, it weighed on him that night. And as he lay awake, alone under his duvet, alone like he always had been, he remembered all those moments together. And he remembered the stories and the jokes, the food and the drink, her hand in his hand, his coat around her shoulders. And he wondered why she too lay alone that night. He wondered what she meant when she said she had never seen someone more than once. And he wondered why that might be, and if perhaps she might be an angel.  

He found her again, that week, and they smiled and they played. They shared more stories still, more honest and more true. And they ate and drank new things, and found new places, not his places nor her’s, but their’s. They made each other warm, and made each other cold. The time still felt short, and neither of them cared. Their deadline wasn't tomorrow, or the day after. Their timetable was forever. They held hands once, and she put her coat around his shoulders this time, and at that they laughed. And then she told him she loved him.

He pondered it that night. He lay awake again, under his duvet, though this time he was not alone, and he remembered all their moments together. And he remembered what she'd said, and he asked her, openly. Was it the stories and the jokes, or the food and the drink? Was it his hand in her’s, or her coat around his shoulders?

She answered him, and startled him again in that sweet but honest voice, “It was none of those things.”