3 views
A Love To Remember - Trystin M.D Rehfeld
Since as far back as my memory stretches, I've been haunted by these recurring dreams. Typically unfolding in the evening, the only constant was the dimming surroundings, except for the captivating silhouette of a lady, emitting an otherworldly golden radiance. In these dreams, her whispers resonate, revealing an inexplicable allure. Each time, I find myself following this enigmatic figure, the timelines shifting with every dream. Despite being just a boy, it feels as if I've known this soul my entire life. Throughout the years, I navigated life, engaging in various courtships, yet none matching the allure and presence of this mysterious lady. My existence became a dedicated quest to find her, as these dreams seemed more like memories, hinting at a shared destiny.
In my youth, I nearly succumbed to deception, mistaking a girl between the ages of 14 and 18 for the ethereal figure from my dreams. We lived together, and I was convinced we were to be wed, and she had my child. The only issue was that the child wasn't mine. This turning point left me blindsided, casting me into darkness. As time passed, I grew distant, confused, and lost in the direction of my life. A year after the shattered relationship, at the age of 19, fate intervened.
Frequently, I sought solace in the wilderness, pouring my thoughts and dreams onto paper. Amidst these moments, my mind invariably returned to her. Unlike typical dream figures, I knew every facet of her being, convinced we had met multiple times before. One random day, while wandering near a shop on my usual route, I encountered her without recognizing the significance. Weeks later, gathering the courage, I inquired about her name and the coffee prices. Natasha, she said, occupied her time with schoolwork. A short but sweet conversation unfolded before I ordered my coffee and continued my way. This seemingly inconsequential interaction played a pivotal role in the emergence of our friendship. Over the next week, daily conversations led to my introduction to her social group—a collection of outsiders searching for their place in the world. Walking alongside them, Natasha's gaze motivated me, and something within her touched my heart. Unsettled by this feeling, I ignored my heart and focused on jotting in my journal. This pattern repeated two or three more times until the night that marked a turning point for us—whether for the better or worse, I'm yet to discern.
On October 9th, 1963, the day held a mild ambiance, with clouds obscuring the sky but allowing a hint of light to filter through, casting an elongated shadow over a woman. Across the way, my gaze fell upon her, and I could sense she noticed my glance. Yet, there was an indefinable peculiarity about her, a subtle strangeness that stirred a sense of unease within me. A tremor coursed through my spine, my chest quivered, and my thoughts raced until a sudden realization struck me. The enigmatic familiarity I felt toward this mysterious woman brought relief; it was as though I had encountered her before, perhaps in my dreams.
In that precise moment, a revelation dawned upon me—the resonance of her presence felt deeply rooted within my consciousness. It was almost as if she embodied someone from my past, someone I had yearned for subconsciously. As our heartbeats seemed to dance in sync, her voice broke the momentary silence. With a graceful stride, she approached and settled beside me, her eyes reflecting both curiosity and a hint of concern. ‘Mister, ain’t you quite lonesome out here all by yer lonesome?’ Her words, tinged with a touch of rustic charm, sliced through the gathering dusk. The question lingered in the air, and I sensed an unspoken connection, an understanding waiting to be unveiled between us.
‘Just ‘cause there’s no one waitin’ for me back home. Never been hitched, never tied the knot, never could keep a fine young lady in this day and age. Still searchin’ for that enduring love, built on care, talk, and kindness.’ She sits silent, ponderin’ her words, wonderin’ what comes next. The winds calm as she speaks again, ‘It’s a pity. You’re tall, young, got it together, but maybe you ain’t funny, or maybe you’re just cruel and distant.’
She starts to rise from the bench, headin’ away.
‘No, I am not funny,’ I replied with conviction. The lady paused but stayed silent. ‘I am not funny Darling, yes, I know. I am not the one who can make you laugh. But grant me this moment, right here, right now. For I may be the only one who can truly make you smile and understand the meaning of each spark that ignites behind your eyes. I can feel your tongue dance behind your lips as we converse, your steps closin’ in on mine, almost as if we are to be one.’
In the gathering twilight, the air was heavy with an unspoken understanding. Her gaze, enigmatic yet inviting, held stories untold, secrets waiting to be unveiled. She shifted closer, the subtle fragrance of jasmine accompanying her movement, mingling with the fading daylight. As our silhouettes merged, the world seemed to blur, leaving only the resonance of her voice and the whispered promises of tomorrow lingering in the air. With a gentle touch, she brushed a stray lock of hair from my brow, her fingertips grazing my skin, sending a shiver down my spine. The universe conspired, aligning our beings in this moment of suspended time, where words seemed unnecessary, replaced by the silent language of shared emotions. In that quiet communion, amidst the encroaching dusk, we found solace in each other’s presence, an unspoken bond weaving itself into the tapestry of our intertwined destinies.
The love was young, much like the night. I took her hand, my emotions as shallow as I was, feeling cold while she exuded warmth. I endeavored to love in the only ways I knew, yet my touch remained as cold as your initial assumption. Unlearning the errors of my ways, I unintentionally transformed into the monster I vowed to destroy, and yet, she loved me.
Our friendship was never meant to evolve into something more; the notion of our possibility hadn’t crossed my mind. Our conversations stretched through day and night, making life together seem timeless. Eventually, we moved in together, securing a cozy Brooklyn apartment. She had her side of the room, I had mine; we shared a bed and everything else down the middle. Each moment with her was pure peace, almost too good for me. Although insecure feelings lingered, I foolishly ignored them, letting them evolve into a self-destructive habit.
Not every moment was as pleasant as assumed. Still, at that time, our conversations were enough to pull us through. A couple of years into the relationship, I wanted to get serious about Christianity. Everything seemed alright, one of the healthiest phases in our relationship, or so I believed. I couldn’t have been more wrong; all my actions were reactions based on emotions, a realization that hit me much later.
I witnessed the years of our happiness transform into one of the most gruesome periods of my life. To foolishly believe I had suffered before—slowly seeing the light of your entire existence fade from your heart is a pain worse than death itself. It was my own undoing, my repeated mistakes, actions sworn to be corrected. Your feelings were clear, but my head was clouded by doubt. These subtleties were my undoing, the lack of restraint and understanding offering me insight. The solution only became apparent when I nearly lost my own life from my hands; some mistakes can end horribly.
Through it all, she remained, the peace of my mind, the apple to my pie, my sugarplum. She loved me still, but I witnessed resentment building. At that point, I believed the best thing to do was to throw her out. If I give you a reason to hate me, an utterly worthless man who would never deserve you, maybe then you can flourish and be free. I only wish you the best; you deserve nothing but the utmost best.
I know now it wasn’t the best decision, one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever had to make. The entire ordeal felt like killing an angel; my heart never stopped shattering. Even now, as I pen this down, a single tear sheds red, for that’s all that may be left to drain. I remember when I came back for a bit; we tried to make it work again. However, I didn’t quite understand why it never happened the way I wanted it to. I wanted it so bad, and in the process, I missed the opportunity to be a true friend—the friend I should have been all along.
As time went on, I wrote to myself, capturing the thoughts I had but never voiced, the hurtful words that remained unread. I pray and hope that someday you might come across these writings and perhaps, with time, comprehend our growth.
“Throughout the years we shared, our highs, our lows, the twists and turns, I often pondered what truly transpired. I sensed it deep within, in the darkest recesses of my being; at my lowest ebb, I faced my deepest sin. I let you go, yet never completely. I knew, in that moment, I couldn’t stay, for I cherished you then, even if I didn’t show it. I was reminded of my own pain, your presence, the agony in your eyes; you meant everything to me, the very purpose of my existence. I marred, shattered, and betrayed, only to rebuild, reconfigure, and pave a new path in the months that followed. Looking back, I comprehend the magnitude of my actions, a necessary evil as I wasn’t the one for you. You were my world, yet I wasn’t yours; the pain of our past, the hurt we couldn’t transcend. From November to October, but never reaching December; Natasha, my heart, a love to remember.”
‘Ah, how beautifully naive of me. How foolish not to have realized I shouldn’t have given you all of my heart. How foolish to have loved you with every ounce of my being. Ignorance was my bliss when I ignored the red roses woven behind your heart. Yes, I agree, how utterly foolish of me. Even now, knowing this, I still love you so.’ The weight of revelation hung palpable in the gathering dusk, each word a confession spun from the fabric of both grief and unwavering affection. How easily the heart succumbs to the allure of love, heedless of the subtle warnings strewn like petals along the path. With each recollection, I sought overlooked clues, dismissed hints camouflaged by affection’s embrace. Unspeakable caution now cast long shadows upon our once-tender moments.
In the echo of those whispered confessions, I embarked upon a new chapter, navigating the uncertain terrain of a heart still tethered to a love now tainted with bittersweet awareness. Despite it all, here I wait for you.
These days have been long, enduring an endless stretch of nights cloaked in melancholy. Amidst the grief, a sudden shift brings relief—a realization settling that perhaps, just maybe, I still hold affection for our memories rather than for who you’ve become. At times, lying wide awake, I ponder reaching out, wondering about your life now: who holds your gaze, where your heart wanders, or what occupies your mind? I miss what we shared, mourn what we lost, but not what lingers. In the instances when I consider calling or writing, the stark rejection serves as a poignant reminder of the reality that endures. A fleeting notion I often disregard is the prospect that perhaps you never truly existed, yet deep within, I yearn for your presence. Perhaps, in another existence, we lie intertwined, the only world we know.
You are the only woman I’ve loved, even if I am not the man in your heart. No other can replace you, for you are unique. I cannot deceive my heart further; it has endured too many wounds. The pain is profound, knowing my heart’s demise lies with you. If someday, even in our twilight years, you chance upon these words, my sole plea is for you to come home, my darling.
© Trystin M.D Rehfeld
In my youth, I nearly succumbed to deception, mistaking a girl between the ages of 14 and 18 for the ethereal figure from my dreams. We lived together, and I was convinced we were to be wed, and she had my child. The only issue was that the child wasn't mine. This turning point left me blindsided, casting me into darkness. As time passed, I grew distant, confused, and lost in the direction of my life. A year after the shattered relationship, at the age of 19, fate intervened.
Frequently, I sought solace in the wilderness, pouring my thoughts and dreams onto paper. Amidst these moments, my mind invariably returned to her. Unlike typical dream figures, I knew every facet of her being, convinced we had met multiple times before. One random day, while wandering near a shop on my usual route, I encountered her without recognizing the significance. Weeks later, gathering the courage, I inquired about her name and the coffee prices. Natasha, she said, occupied her time with schoolwork. A short but sweet conversation unfolded before I ordered my coffee and continued my way. This seemingly inconsequential interaction played a pivotal role in the emergence of our friendship. Over the next week, daily conversations led to my introduction to her social group—a collection of outsiders searching for their place in the world. Walking alongside them, Natasha's gaze motivated me, and something within her touched my heart. Unsettled by this feeling, I ignored my heart and focused on jotting in my journal. This pattern repeated two or three more times until the night that marked a turning point for us—whether for the better or worse, I'm yet to discern.
On October 9th, 1963, the day held a mild ambiance, with clouds obscuring the sky but allowing a hint of light to filter through, casting an elongated shadow over a woman. Across the way, my gaze fell upon her, and I could sense she noticed my glance. Yet, there was an indefinable peculiarity about her, a subtle strangeness that stirred a sense of unease within me. A tremor coursed through my spine, my chest quivered, and my thoughts raced until a sudden realization struck me. The enigmatic familiarity I felt toward this mysterious woman brought relief; it was as though I had encountered her before, perhaps in my dreams.
In that precise moment, a revelation dawned upon me—the resonance of her presence felt deeply rooted within my consciousness. It was almost as if she embodied someone from my past, someone I had yearned for subconsciously. As our heartbeats seemed to dance in sync, her voice broke the momentary silence. With a graceful stride, she approached and settled beside me, her eyes reflecting both curiosity and a hint of concern. ‘Mister, ain’t you quite lonesome out here all by yer lonesome?’ Her words, tinged with a touch of rustic charm, sliced through the gathering dusk. The question lingered in the air, and I sensed an unspoken connection, an understanding waiting to be unveiled between us.
‘Just ‘cause there’s no one waitin’ for me back home. Never been hitched, never tied the knot, never could keep a fine young lady in this day and age. Still searchin’ for that enduring love, built on care, talk, and kindness.’ She sits silent, ponderin’ her words, wonderin’ what comes next. The winds calm as she speaks again, ‘It’s a pity. You’re tall, young, got it together, but maybe you ain’t funny, or maybe you’re just cruel and distant.’
She starts to rise from the bench, headin’ away.
‘No, I am not funny,’ I replied with conviction. The lady paused but stayed silent. ‘I am not funny Darling, yes, I know. I am not the one who can make you laugh. But grant me this moment, right here, right now. For I may be the only one who can truly make you smile and understand the meaning of each spark that ignites behind your eyes. I can feel your tongue dance behind your lips as we converse, your steps closin’ in on mine, almost as if we are to be one.’
In the gathering twilight, the air was heavy with an unspoken understanding. Her gaze, enigmatic yet inviting, held stories untold, secrets waiting to be unveiled. She shifted closer, the subtle fragrance of jasmine accompanying her movement, mingling with the fading daylight. As our silhouettes merged, the world seemed to blur, leaving only the resonance of her voice and the whispered promises of tomorrow lingering in the air. With a gentle touch, she brushed a stray lock of hair from my brow, her fingertips grazing my skin, sending a shiver down my spine. The universe conspired, aligning our beings in this moment of suspended time, where words seemed unnecessary, replaced by the silent language of shared emotions. In that quiet communion, amidst the encroaching dusk, we found solace in each other’s presence, an unspoken bond weaving itself into the tapestry of our intertwined destinies.
The love was young, much like the night. I took her hand, my emotions as shallow as I was, feeling cold while she exuded warmth. I endeavored to love in the only ways I knew, yet my touch remained as cold as your initial assumption. Unlearning the errors of my ways, I unintentionally transformed into the monster I vowed to destroy, and yet, she loved me.
Our friendship was never meant to evolve into something more; the notion of our possibility hadn’t crossed my mind. Our conversations stretched through day and night, making life together seem timeless. Eventually, we moved in together, securing a cozy Brooklyn apartment. She had her side of the room, I had mine; we shared a bed and everything else down the middle. Each moment with her was pure peace, almost too good for me. Although insecure feelings lingered, I foolishly ignored them, letting them evolve into a self-destructive habit.
Not every moment was as pleasant as assumed. Still, at that time, our conversations were enough to pull us through. A couple of years into the relationship, I wanted to get serious about Christianity. Everything seemed alright, one of the healthiest phases in our relationship, or so I believed. I couldn’t have been more wrong; all my actions were reactions based on emotions, a realization that hit me much later.
I witnessed the years of our happiness transform into one of the most gruesome periods of my life. To foolishly believe I had suffered before—slowly seeing the light of your entire existence fade from your heart is a pain worse than death itself. It was my own undoing, my repeated mistakes, actions sworn to be corrected. Your feelings were clear, but my head was clouded by doubt. These subtleties were my undoing, the lack of restraint and understanding offering me insight. The solution only became apparent when I nearly lost my own life from my hands; some mistakes can end horribly.
Through it all, she remained, the peace of my mind, the apple to my pie, my sugarplum. She loved me still, but I witnessed resentment building. At that point, I believed the best thing to do was to throw her out. If I give you a reason to hate me, an utterly worthless man who would never deserve you, maybe then you can flourish and be free. I only wish you the best; you deserve nothing but the utmost best.
I know now it wasn’t the best decision, one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever had to make. The entire ordeal felt like killing an angel; my heart never stopped shattering. Even now, as I pen this down, a single tear sheds red, for that’s all that may be left to drain. I remember when I came back for a bit; we tried to make it work again. However, I didn’t quite understand why it never happened the way I wanted it to. I wanted it so bad, and in the process, I missed the opportunity to be a true friend—the friend I should have been all along.
As time went on, I wrote to myself, capturing the thoughts I had but never voiced, the hurtful words that remained unread. I pray and hope that someday you might come across these writings and perhaps, with time, comprehend our growth.
“Throughout the years we shared, our highs, our lows, the twists and turns, I often pondered what truly transpired. I sensed it deep within, in the darkest recesses of my being; at my lowest ebb, I faced my deepest sin. I let you go, yet never completely. I knew, in that moment, I couldn’t stay, for I cherished you then, even if I didn’t show it. I was reminded of my own pain, your presence, the agony in your eyes; you meant everything to me, the very purpose of my existence. I marred, shattered, and betrayed, only to rebuild, reconfigure, and pave a new path in the months that followed. Looking back, I comprehend the magnitude of my actions, a necessary evil as I wasn’t the one for you. You were my world, yet I wasn’t yours; the pain of our past, the hurt we couldn’t transcend. From November to October, but never reaching December; Natasha, my heart, a love to remember.”
‘Ah, how beautifully naive of me. How foolish not to have realized I shouldn’t have given you all of my heart. How foolish to have loved you with every ounce of my being. Ignorance was my bliss when I ignored the red roses woven behind your heart. Yes, I agree, how utterly foolish of me. Even now, knowing this, I still love you so.’ The weight of revelation hung palpable in the gathering dusk, each word a confession spun from the fabric of both grief and unwavering affection. How easily the heart succumbs to the allure of love, heedless of the subtle warnings strewn like petals along the path. With each recollection, I sought overlooked clues, dismissed hints camouflaged by affection’s embrace. Unspeakable caution now cast long shadows upon our once-tender moments.
In the echo of those whispered confessions, I embarked upon a new chapter, navigating the uncertain terrain of a heart still tethered to a love now tainted with bittersweet awareness. Despite it all, here I wait for you.
These days have been long, enduring an endless stretch of nights cloaked in melancholy. Amidst the grief, a sudden shift brings relief—a realization settling that perhaps, just maybe, I still hold affection for our memories rather than for who you’ve become. At times, lying wide awake, I ponder reaching out, wondering about your life now: who holds your gaze, where your heart wanders, or what occupies your mind? I miss what we shared, mourn what we lost, but not what lingers. In the instances when I consider calling or writing, the stark rejection serves as a poignant reminder of the reality that endures. A fleeting notion I often disregard is the prospect that perhaps you never truly existed, yet deep within, I yearn for your presence. Perhaps, in another existence, we lie intertwined, the only world we know.
You are the only woman I’ve loved, even if I am not the man in your heart. No other can replace you, for you are unique. I cannot deceive my heart further; it has endured too many wounds. The pain is profound, knowing my heart’s demise lies with you. If someday, even in our twilight years, you chance upon these words, my sole plea is for you to come home, my darling.
© Trystin M.D Rehfeld
