Don't Dream It's Over

I drove to the airport in a car borrowed from a friend. I could, of course, have taken a cab, but as the emotion of seeing her after so many years may have reduced me to tears, I needed the sanctuary of an enclosed space; however small.

As she appeared through the sliding doors, recognition on her part was immediate. I thought that she would not recognise me. But there was not an inkling of this as she smiled, lowered her head, shook it in self belief and realisation that the man she saw, was in fact the man she had loved all those years ago.

We embraced. The feelings for me were the same as I had for her when she had left the country after our affair. I had seen her only twice since then, all those years ago. And we did not let go. Travellers past us but paid no heed as we silently wept together; enjoying the feelings that we both thought never would, or be allowed to, return.

I had no idea how to play her. As we drove to my apartment, we talked mundanely of her journey to the airport, her flight, while all the time I was nervously working out in my head the best way to approach her after I had her enter my home.

We both exhaled a sigh of relief as the door was closed to the outside world. My apartment though small, is perfect for me. I have room for my artists materials, a spacious living room, and a small balcony overlooking playing fields. I also have a comfortable bed in a very pleasant bedroom.

I helped her with her travelling bags into that room and put them beside the bed; we held each other. We both were trembling as she said no more than "Take me to bed"