This is a story of no exceptionality. It is ancient and it is born anew every day, every time I draw a breath. This is a story of the ordinary, the sometimes tediously mundane. It is a story of a boy who left and came back as a man, and a girl who, while the boy was gone, grew up a woman.
How do we explain fate? Coincidence? How do two dust particles become tangential for an ephemeral moment, an instantaneous eternity?
He always remained an enigma, a dichotomy, like the way light is both a continual wave and an explosion of particles. His humanity and hers touched briefly in the blossom of a single summer’s day. Does the brevity detract from the sincerity in sharing your souls?
And she still doesn’t know if she was in love with him, or her idea of him, or perhaps, because he was the kind of person she wanted to be.
When the Eurus wind took him to another land she resigned in her heart that their life stories will have no more common plots. Even the most potent disappointment is diluted by the passing of time, and she grew up and he grew distance in her mind, as a line on the yellowed pages of her memories grows fainter with each dance of the seasons.
Then he came back.
He came back and she realized that in her starry-eyed dawn of womanhood, she loved him as her hero, a set of ideals. But now that he has returned she realized that her hero is just a man, a man who, while away, has metamorphosed from his not-so-distant boyhood, a man with his dreams and insecurities.
He came back with the Zephyr wind but she was leaving. She was leaving for a land that beckoned her and a life that she has been growing toward, fighting for. Has she become who she wanted to be? Then what becomes of him? What becomes of them?
He held out his heart and touched hers. Ember inhaled and fluttered into flame. For two seasons their humanities breathed in the same spirit and together recited the names of the constellations. We are a divine comedy, she thought, and comedies parody our tragedies. We learn to say the right lines at the right times and it’s a bit dehumanizing. Whose applause am I vying for?
He did not realize how his heart was the offering for hers, and she was no longer the girl he remembered. There is a strength that he has hitherto only seen from a distance, and a quiet confidence replaced the childish timidity. And he discovered, with a note of amusement, that her resilience has bore the fruit of stubbornness. The woman that grew from the girl he remembered is no longer a child.
But he knew that she was leaving and he, to his surprise, found his heart growing into hers. Two trees entwining into one. He has never given his heart to anyone. Not completely. And now he watches himself entering a rebirth, terrifying and beautiful.
She was leaving and he did not know how exactly do two humanities remain tangent for an eternal instant, an inexplicable now.
This is an ancient tale, the ones that hunters tell around a fire while the stars breathe the night away. No one really speaks the ending out loud, at least, not the wise storytellers, because the end is the beginning.