One Sunday afternoon, many moons ago, I walked down one of my most favorite streets in the CBD.
I was going through the most but I still urged my chubby legs to plod on along because I had places to go.
A man stopped his car across the street, got out and came over to say ‘hello’.
He had a wide smile, and behaved the way all extroverts do. He was confident and his loud happiness was very entertaining.
His energy was boisterous but not violating. It was contagious without ever being intoxicating. And just like that, the part of me that had felt dim minutes before started lighting up.
I kept silently thinking ‘he’s actually funny.’
And even though, I already suspected that he was someone I wouldn’t ever want to see again, I walked with him to his car.
Inside, I attempted to mimic his jovialness.
It felt foreign and forced but he was fun and I wanted him to know that I appreciated his company for playing the role of distracting my heavy heart.
We ended up spending over six hours together that night.
I got to stand on the rooftop of the building he lives in and listened to a very long history about the streets in the area.
I tasted his favorite craft beer and was forced to give a good review.
He also insisted that we have supper at a rooftop restaurant owned by his uncle’s friend.
I couldn’t help feeling like a fraud for sharing moments with him when I already knew the truth.
I told him about this blog. I showed him pictures of my nephew and even told him things about myself, I’d never told anyone else before.
When he spoke, I listened, nodded and reciprocated his smiles.
I was giggly and desperately relishing in the attention that had infiltrated a little twinkle through the messiness I was carrying inside.
When the night came to an end, he dropped me off at my place and asked for my number.
He parked his car, got out and hugged me, I squeezed harder.
I never told him but that would become the last time we ever spoke.
The next morning, his calls rang desperately one after the other.
Then they came in single rings, all spread out throughout the day.
After three weeks, he finally stopped trying to reach me.
I was both relieved and very guilty.
We shared moments he hoped we could expand into something worthwhile, while I’d known from the very beginning that our first night together would definitely be our last.
I laughed, flirted and could easily be accused of leading him on when I knew going any further was something I never hoped for.
I accept crucifixion for not having the courage to tell him the truth.
I still don’t know why my heart refused to budge. I wanted to want what he wanted but I just didn’t.
Have you ever given a moment when you knew you wouldn’t give more? Have you ever been the one that ached for more when you were only extended a moment?
Photo By: Lonwabo Zimela