Wisps

Dreams.

Memories.

Thoughts.

Wishes.

What if.

All of these are wisps. Light, smoke like entities that curl around our minds, teasing us with things both remembered and forgotten. Feathery, fog like fingers seep into boxes of memories long stored away, awakening things from the past, then melting away to leave us wondering.

This time, the memory they stirred is one that will never really have the closure I crave. The what if's contained in this memory box are both foggy and clear. It makes it even more difficult.

The memory of a dance, of a voice singing to me as we made our way over the dance floor. It's right within my grasp, but when I reach out to take hold of it, it is as if the very movent of my hand through the air pushes it away into nothingness.

And so I wonder.

What if he had pursued me? Or I him?

I was young and dumb and so very arrogant. Did I wait for him to chase me? Or was I so flighty that only the next bright, shiny thing was what I focused on? Did I melt into his touch? Would I have? How did I process that moment?

I wonder.

Looking back over the years, remembering who I was then, I still cannot know the answers for sure. The black holes are too deep and dark. 

I know I was beautiful. I know that I had a smile that could light up a room. I also know that I was clueless and socially awkward. I know that I tried too hard and wanted too much too fast. I know I likely didn't have a prayer back then.

Or did I...

Experience has taught me that I judge my younger self far more harshly than is probably necessary. But how could I do otherwise?

I wonder.

Would we have been good together? Would we have made it work? Would my temper have ruined everything? Would our combined arrogance have helped us or have broken us? Would love have waxed and waned like the cycles of the moon? 

Knowing my own story far better than I know his, I honestly don't know. These what if's crawl around in my head freely. I always seek closure, answers to unanswerable questions. But ultimately, there is none to be found. 

The wisps rarely touch this box. Or, rather, rarely did. 2 and a half years ago, we reconnected, quite by accident. Slowly, but with great persistence, these memories pushed themselves to the main floor of my mind. And occasionally, they will tumble, unbidden, back to tease me. 

He is a hopeless flirt, meaning he cannot help himself. Granted, he is devilishly handsome and quite the charmer. Hearing his voice now only makes the questions more difficult to answer. Even more difficult to look at them without breaking eye contact. It is difficult to sit with these and hear his voice wash over me. The what if's start to chatter and clamor for the floor so they can be heard. But I cannot even begin to yield to them. Doing so brings so many more what if's to this cluster of memories and Lord knows, I have enough already.

As they begin to tire themselves out, I slowly gather each foggy memory, each slightly tarnished what if, each and every scrap and store them lovingly and carefully back in their box. I hug their container to my chest, refusing to be sad or angry at the memories. I love that they helped make me who I am.

I have realized that these what if's will never be answered. And I am okay with that. I have, instead, a treasured friend. He will always be there if I need him and I do my very best to do the same for him. 

He said something recently that inspired this post. We were discussing a dream he had. He said that it was "just thoughts about missed opportunities....daydreams."

I will always wonder.

Because...

Wisps.