She took her girl friend for a coffee.
Her friend suddenly mentioned something far past:”But now he is married.”
“I saw it that day. But I thought I shouldn’t be the one to tell you. You are gonna be sad and I don’t want that.”
“It’s ok. I knew there would be the day.”
“I thought you’d hurt.”
“No I’m actually not. I’m happy for him. I knew who he was, and I know who he is, and he will be the person he hoped to be. I’m truly happy for him. And thanks for not letting me know. I figured it out myself ahead of the ‘news’.”
“It’s interesting that you let it go this easily.”
“It’s just because I could do nothing. It’s just nice to see him being himself. I know he has been searching for too long. This is what he always wanted to have. Its nice that he finally found it.”
but for this story, there is no start; there would be no end.
She seeks him on others, details and traces and shadows and smells, but not the whole.
Maybe this is why it gets her and the new story touches the same spot after so many years.
She whispers and hums the lines, but there is no start; there would be no end.