She had been imagining this very scene for a while; the scenario in which she would meet him. But she didn’t expect that she would meet him on such a boisterous occasion, with people coming and going. And yet, so very cliché, it seemed as if it was just the two of them. They were having a quiet conversation. Her gaze was desolate.
It’s like a poem by Byron—
“If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?
He suddenly rushed forward to hold her hands. “Why did you sever all ties with me in those days?” he asked with concern.
“No reason. I just got tired,” she said, slightly.
“Possibly. It’s none of my business. I never owned the same status as you. That’s why I’m not surprised to witness such a hasty ending.”
Indeed, the last time they met she wore a long white dress, now replaced by a pale pinkish-purple suit. Her long chestnut hair was now sleekly styled, typical of a strong and successful woman. As for him, he had grown a beard, which was something she just couldn’t really get used to.
“Do we have a chance of getting back together?” he said, sincerely.
“I’m sorry,” she replied frankly, “I just don’t need you anymore. I’ve moved on.”
Her mind wandered, while mentally she quoted a dictum from Francis Bacon which was considered as her belief—
“Amongst all the great and worthy persons there is not one, that hath been transported to the mad degree of love.” It did make sense, didn’t it?
However, how she wished to weep when she turned around and her face was out of sight. The atmosphere was still lively. The moonlight remained as gentle as before.