My lunch break is when I heard from you. Ours has been somewhat of a modern day romance; borne beneath halogen bulbs and between warm, freshly printed pages.
You never had to stay and talk. The lengthy work I would do for your company could have easily been left for me to labor away at, however you always entertained me with good conversation. I used to wonder why that was. Were you escaping a boring day, and I was a subtle reprieve from it? Or was there something else there, perhaps a curiosity and intrigue that I inspired in you? Now, looking back, I concern myself less and less with the why and am just thankful for the what. And the what was this: you were a beautiful stranger in a world filled with nothing but strange faces who took the time to speak with me.
I still have the quill you gave me, you know. I’ve used it several times, and you’ll be amused and I’m sure not altogether surprised to hear my attempts to use it were unsuccessful. I keep the bottle of ink on my desk, in fact. Next to a few other trinkets from family members and others close to me.
Shockingly I find myself living in Kennesaw now, the same place you had once told me your grandfather had lived. It’s funny how life can bring you so close to someone and never know it. That seems to be our fate, however. Always so close, and never more than just that.
I’ve looked you up several times. No ill will or bad sentiment drove me to do this, mind you. There will be times throughout my day when I will think of you, and those conversations that fell so naturally between sheets of newly bound plastic, and smile. It’s nice to see that you’re happy.
And it was during my lunch break when I heard from you again, out of the blue from whence you came all those years ago. The continent that smiled at me, showed me kindness, and made me think ‘maybe’ again; after I had spent so long thinking ‘never again’.