“Her picture appears on my feed.
The dress she wears exudes elegance in a way that is not far removed from Her dainty yet nonchalant figure. She’s smiling.
Her mouth is gently closed while Her eyes, gleaming in the light, gaze directly at the camera. It may be Her classic pose, but she carries Herself confidently in a way that makes a casual observer of this image feel immersed; as if, they themselves were standing directly opposite Her. Thereby emphasizing her natural candid positioning.
Her eyes shine, hypnotically drawing your attention to Her dimples and subtle features gently spread across Her face. I look away.
Her eyes. Her damn eyes. They cause my skin to tingle, causing a slight shiver down my body. Unable to look away for any longer I return my gaze to Her once more.
Her picture is still there yet appears altered. Her eyes seem to look beyond me now. Her focus has shifted from me to the person who captured this image. The photo’s location rapidly changes.
I can see Her full profile now, she is ascending an elevator. Her left hand gently caressing the hand rail. Her expression remains unchanged, Her eyes are once again staring towards me.
A dinner date appears to explain Her dress choice, Her refined appearance. I stare motionless at the image before continuing to an entirely different image, also belonging to Her.
Unlike before, this image is an amalgamation of tidy picture-perfect images which reminds me back to Wellington’s High Court, yet with the steps as those sprawling below the Beehive. I shake my head I don’t know.
The concrete paved surface in one of these images appears drenched, entirely soaked due to what appears to be a classic Wellington day.
Wet, windy and wild.
In the distance I can make out the fields of red, orange, and white lights merging reflecting a mildly intense blur. I blink. I stop observing.
Why does this look so familiar?
Her caption reads “Long ago.” I hit like almost immediately.
I then see more photos, all tidily placed alongside one another. It reminds me of the mosaics from ancient times. The ones you were forced to see on a family outing, on a rainy day, at the museum.
I scroll through the comments. Unfamiliar to the names, I discover Her new life, Her new friends, the friends she always wanted and needed, ones that cared and loved Her.
I keep scrolling.
Footage of Her in a recording distinguishes itself from the rest of Her content laid out on my screen. The footage is recorded by someone else, someone unfamiliar to me.
It begins with a simple horizontal pan moving softly like a feather falling back to earth; from left to right. A calm, healing, and natural setting is captured. All is green, lush, and peaceful.
Grassy hills sprawl into the distance, as a clear azure sky, lacking the expected appearance of fluffy white clouds, is revealed.
The footage, still panning to the right, focuses on the top of Her head slowly panning downwards to show Her in full, before continuing to pan right.
It returns to
I pre-emptively counter any and all incoming audio from this footage; I hit mute.
I prefer to observe rather than listen. Her being with someone other than me is an expectation, especially as the days have gone by since we were last together.
Hearing Her speak to him the way she once spoke to me, the way she would
laugh, smile, talk,
is an undertaking I realise I am not yet ready to endure.
The camera remains transfixed on Her, she appears to be talking to him.
I see Her move towards the person holding the camera. This same person briefly shakes the camera view and moves to Her as well. They embrace and share a tender, yet passionate, kiss.
I sigh. I’ll never be able to see Her now.
I’ll never be able to have another chance. She’ll never see me the same way.
I open my eyes. Was it a dream? Was it all fictional? Imagined?
I check Her page and find none of what I’ve seen. Yet, nor do I recognise the images before me.
I open my eyes once more. I’m in bed, again. I check Instagram.
The date night photo, the video, the unfamiliar photos, the compilation of photos, none of them exist. I shake my head and exhale.
I inhale to exhale thrice more.
What does this all mean?
Is it a reminder of how love lingers no matter how certain you are in having jettisoned it?
Is it a final way to say goodbye?
Is it foreshadowing my direction in life, reflecting my incapacity to move on?
Or is it all just bullshit?
I rise up, planting my feet on the cool surface of my bedroom. My afternoon nap was a success, but fatigue still lingers.
Best to get up though, right?
I inaudibly yawn.
I’ll rest my eyes for a little longer, I decide.
I collapse where I realise I have been laying for the last half hour.
Slowly sinking into the comforting and familiar surface of my bed, hoping to see,
one more time.”