“You only know you love her when you let her go. / And you let her go.”
– Passenger ‘Let Her Go’
This morning, I woke up and I remembered. I remembered your voice, that sweet Australian accent of yours. I remembered your height, how you were half a head taller than me. I remembered your countenance. Most importantly, I remembered that countenance. I remembered you.
And I know now that it’s all too late.
Without a name or a number, I dropped all plans I had that night instinctively and went to the airport to search for you. I should have asked what time you were flying off, which flight, which number, your number for that matter. I should have asked for that photo of us.
I couldn’t find you. I gave up. I looked at almost every white-skinned girl entering the departure hall and I couldn’t find that precious countenance that I was sacredly trying so hard not to forget. Chance, miracle, divine intervention, whatever you called it, wasn’t with me that night. It was definitely there when we first met though.
We waved goodbye that day. Our secret waves. You kept looking back as if you were signalling to me to come over to you, to ask you to stop, to stay awhile more, anything, something. To just keep that moment of ours alive. But I didn’t. I put an end to that moment.
And I let you go.