Sometimes it's good to remember

We stood outside our building on the harbor, the water winding lazily beside us. The air was brisk, but in Amsterdam the air always is, and the sky was clear, a rarity. My cab driver loaded up the last of my bags as I said good-bye. There were so many things left to say, and too many that could never be taken back. I’d like to say that the situation was inevitable, but it wasn’t. I was just lucky. But I loved him, and I think he loved me too. I wrapped my arms around his neck and buried my head into his shoulders, smelling him one last time.

“So, I love you.” The words hurt. The world hurt.

“I know. I love you too.” He replied sadly.

“I guess I’ll see you later.” I whispered, half question, my tears perilously close to the surface. I knew I wouldn’t.

“Yeah. Later.” He held me even tighter. “I love you so much. So much. I never knew love, felt love, until you.”

“I know.” I whispered and hugged him back.

We kissed once more, softly, and I climbed into the cab.

My driver smiled at me kindly as we drove to the airport. “Your love is nice. You don’t see it often. When do you come back?”

I looked up, blinking back tears. “I don’t. That was the end.”

He met my eyes in the rear-view mirror and shook his head slightly. Confused. Then wondered aloud, “But you love him. And he loves you. It’s beautiful.”

It wasn’t really. Beautiful. There was love, I think, or at least pieces of it, sometimes. But it wasn’t enough. And it wasn’t kind.


August 2002