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When I saw him, time as I knew it stopped. He had kept his tall lean figure, big smile and lively attitude. Seeing him again instantly ensured that notion. It had been years but age had been kind to us both. At least one thing was; time usually isn’t. It was though when I looked at him, I instantly turned 16 again. He embraced my body and gave the best “hello” hug I think I’ve ever felt. Not too impersonal nor too strong. Just enough time for him to whisper how much he missed me and kiss the top of my head; I missed that. We seldom kept in touch over the years. Any excuse was just that. He wasn’t just somebody you forgot, nor someone you wanted to. We sat and got the usual questionings one indulges with those known in a former life. “Who, what, when, where, why;” without the how.

It’d be a lie to say I indulged in every story he told. I found myself lost within a face I had fallen in love with so long ago. Which turned into another couple of years until seeing him again. He had gone on to bigger and better things. We kept in touch more frequently through those years, he insisted. No matter how much time passed, I always seemed to be brought back with him. For love? That’s simply a four letter word that gets tossed around more than a used towel at a football game. For touch? Something easily attainable if given the right outfit and attitude.

But for the emotions that surged through my body at the mere thought of him. The way his mouth hovered over mine as almost to breathe a new life into me. The smell that resonated a thirst I can hardly describe. An inclination unlike anything you can imagine, drawing me to only him. A poet all his own, he whispers sweet nothings more divinely simply because they escape his mouth. The risk I run of not treading carefully being all my own. But still, something I must risk. As we say goodbye (for now) we walk in opposite directions, simultaneously looking back at one another as I watch him enter his car and drive away. “It will always be you, my love.”