The Day I met You...

The day I met you could have been my last; I was that close to taking the leap, and it wasn’t one of faith. I still don’t know why I stopped to look at you but I’m surely thankful I did; that much I know.

It was pouring and I was soaked to the bone. My clothes were drenched and icy cold against my skin, I was shivering and shaking like a leaf, standing in a pond of mudded water. The bridge was surprisingly unaffected by the rain, standing still despite the wind. When I looked down, I could barely make out the cars passing by, hear their noise, smell the gas fumes.

Damn was it a tall bridge…

I smoothed the hair behind my ears, pushed the glasses up my nose and inhaled what was supposed to be my last breath. It was shallow and my lungs didn’t fill up, my unwilling muscles tensed even more as if sensing that upcoming end. But I was ready despite my body’s hesitation. I took another step forward and closed my eyes, burning the sight of the city I loved in the back of my eyes. I let the feeling of each and every individual, bitter water droplet imprint its echo in my mind. Behind my tightly shut eyes the world, that wonderful world, was waving farewell.

“Do you think you could move your head to the right a little?”

My eyes automatically opened. The voice, deep and calm, came from somewhere not too far behind my back. Which was surprising, to say the least, for I was sure I was standing there alone.

“Excuse me?” Even on the very verge of death I could not forget my manners.

“You have an interesting profile.” said the voice. A light scratching noise was heard above the noise of the rain falling on the bridge. “It would be a shame not to depict it.”

I had to turn.

You were… breathtaking. Even with half of your face covered by that stupid hat and shaded by that ridiculously huge, ancient umbrella, I could still tell you were the most handsome being I had ever encountered. Seated on the wet tiles with a sketchbook laid flat on your lap, pen in your hand, drawing lines as if it wasn’t raining cats and dogs around you. An aura surrounded you, I could almost taste it; it felt numb like Novocain on my tongue.

“Who are you?” Why are you drawing my portrait while I’m committing suicide?

“Don’t mind me, darling, do your thing”

Your hand kept drawing lines on the paper. You gave me a dazzling smile above it and my brain noted a set of pearly whites framed by a pair of pale lips.

“I’m…” Jumping off the bridge. Won’t you stop me? “…looking around.”

“Yes, I know.” I know everything. And I won’t stop you.

I just couldn’t jump; not with an audience so willing to let me die, it didn’t seem right. Now that you were there, I wanted you to panic like people in movies do. I needed you to scream, try to forcefully stop me, grab me by the hand and pull me back until I fall into your arms and cry.

“This is not a movie.” You surprised me again, keeping your eyes steadily on the paper. Your fingers were always working on the sketch. “Every minute counts as one and I won’t stop you from looking around.” A smile to yourself that hurt my ego. “I never was a fan of the whole you jump-I jump thing.”

I watched you, speechless, as you destroyed my drama-filled fantasy, silently whaling. You moved your pencil on the paper and finally looked at me. The impact was almost fatal – hah! – and right then I wished I had jumped. That accusing glare seeing through my thoughts and criticizing me, scrutinizing my whole being… How I wish I had jumped. How I loathed the distance between me and the pavement.

“You can’t do it, so stop pretending you still want to.” you said and – oh, not again – you smiled a third smile, so ironic it burnt the back of my neck. “I’m so sick of you people threatening to die every other day. You know, I never usually complain, but this time around?” You pointed at the sky with a straight finger, seemingly underlining the rain and the gloomy skies above. “Really now? On a rainy night like this? Could you have chosen a more dramatic timing?”

“I don’t understand.” I really did not. Your rant rang in my ears, so otherworldly and out-of-time. But you just looked around, unfazed by the impact you had on me. I should of known, you were just passing-by and that was a mere stop. I was your cigarette, and where the flame reached the filter, you would throw me down and walk away.

“Dearest…” I couldn’t take my eyes off as you helped yourself up, stuffing the sketchbook in one of your many pockets. The duster coat fell free and scandalous on your lean frame, screaming your beauty away. You shut the umbrella, tilting your hear back to taste the rain, revealing a slender neck and a prominent jawline. The delve of your neck invited me. “ You are not ready.”

“Who are you?” I stuttered as you took a step closer, and I shivered. Your body, although drawing me in, emanated a sharp cold I could feel burning my nostrils. I could smell your odor and I knew I should like it. This earth-like touch in your fragrance, the promise of quiet and peace in your velvety-looking skin. I knew it in my heart that I should embrace you; hold you as close as possible. Let you become a part of me, or become a part of you and surrender. Whole-heartedly vow to adore the seize of movement, the nothingness you offered. But instead of jumping in your arms, my legs took a step back on their own.

Your face… You were not sad, no. I couldn’t see a hint of loneliness or despair; your eyes were not full of rejection. You were expecting my response. “I don’t tend to strike twice, love. Next time you call me, don’t hang up.” And you vanished. You simply disappeared as if you never existed.

You took the rain with you and left the sky full of dismembered clouds and shuttered dreams with sharp hinges. But I couldn’t grasp the sky, and I couldn’t unscrew the hinges. I couldn’t put the pieces together; make a whole out of tiny parts of emptiness.

If you were a lover, you would have killed me twice.