By Martin Falatic
It was the later hours of a genteel party in an old country manor. The place was done in the old world style, with dark wood trimmings and dim sconces lighting the rooms and hallways. I entered a side room to gather my coat. As I closed the door behind me I turned and saw her sitting in the shadows, beside a small side table and lamp. Her reverie disturbed, she looked at me intently, her pupils wide in the half-light, a strand of sandy brown hair framing her face. My heart stopped and my stomach fluttered… time itself seemed to step slowly so as not to break the moment. I felt that I knew her but from where? I searched my memory in vain: It was as though I was seeing the embodiment of a dream, one which left only a dim aching void upon awakening. We were transfixed as this instant of mutual recognition passed between us. I looked for a ring, saw one that might or might not mean her betrothal to another and despite myself I ignored it. I looked for a sign, anything to rein in the impulse that took hold, anything to awaken me before I made an utter fool of myself. Nonetheless, without a word spoken, I leaned down and towards her. She tilted her head up and slowly closed her eyes as our lips met. It was a tender, almost delicate kiss, but to my very core it was like a cool sip of water on a warm summer day.
I recovered myself, suddenly feeling naked and vulnerable. I spoke, “I’m… I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me! Please, I hope I haven’t offended–” “You have nothing to be sorry about.” she said, her eyes still locked to my own. I leaned in again and we kissed with more passion… the kisses of long lost lovers reunited, of kindred spirits revealed.