Repeating Memories


It must be thirty years and a marriage ago, when we were returning to my lodgings in a taxi following my birthday meal, when you folded yourself into my shoulder and looked up at me in a way which could only say “Kiss Me.” It was the most powerful and romantic encounter in my life.

The driver was so taken with our closeness and the air of gentle tenderness that he refused to charge us for the journey, saying we had made his evening which became part of the magic which set that night apart. I remember how we sat on the bed and how, without awkwardness, you removed your top to reveal a picture of beautiful and naked loveliness: I could never dream of you being under the same roof as me and in this state, and yet you were.

We spent the night in each other’s arms, kissing frequently and on the edge of an intimacy which I could hardly imagine, though boundaries were observed.

That was the last and only time you shared my bed and let me kiss you. Perhaps it was your brief flirtation with reckless emotion, I have no idea, but you had that canny awareness which comes with being ambitious and a sense of who might help you on the journey: I was not one of those people.

Now you walk among the great and are decorated for your efforts while I remain lost in thought and imagination, writing books to eke out a living. Locked in a marriage held together in mutual disappointment, but without the willpower to end it, I place your person in my stories so that once again and always we may kiss, and you can look me in the eye and find fulfilment. My wife, a non-romantic who has no knowledge of the episode, shrugs at my naiveté and my appetite for sentiment, but I, and now you, know that all I’m writing is our history as I wish it might have been.

In that attic called your memory, amongst the awards and recognitions you have gained, the travels and adventures, and the causes about which you speak so passionately in the newspapers I always wondered if you ever recalled our moment together yet here I am holding a letter from you in my hand?

About Peter Wells aka Countingducks

Trying to remember what my future is
This entry was posted in character, creative writing, Fiction, Love, marriage, Peter Wells, Uncategorized and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

24 Responses to Repeating Memories

  1. Such a romantic scene here. Perhaps the letter will have a promise for the future. I love the way you write, with great insight and deep feelings, and hope to read many more of your stories 😉 ❤ xxx

    Liked by 1 person

  2. mikesteeden says:

    You leave your readers wanting more, Peter. I might add that The Arsenal did not leave me ‘wanting more’ yesterday!

    Liked by 1 person

  3. delphini510 says:

    Beautiful story and writing Peter. Tenderness, romance, reality and dreams.
    miriam

    Liked by 1 person

  4. ksbeth says:

    how sweet and tender, the thoughts of what was, almost was, and perhaps will be –

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Very heart warming and sincere. Where does it go from here Peter?

    Like

  6. gotham girl says:

    Always enjoy your love stories…sadness and all.

    Like

  7. I read you:
    a). For the story, but mainly
    b). For the style! (e.g. locked in a marriage held together in mutual disappointment…)
    Brilliant as always.

    Liked by 1 person

  8. judithhb says:

    Great as always Peter, leaving us, the readers, to wonder what might or could happen in the future.

    Like

  9. Ah, the pain of the groupie!

    Like

  10. I love the beautiful melancholy of this piece. Perhaps, in some way, we all harbour, and live off, dreams of what might have been.
    On a sadder note, I’ve just been reading about the tragic death of Cyrille Regis. I watched him play many times – what a striker – yet also witnessed some of the horrific racial abuse that he (plus Laurie Cunningham and Brendan Batson) suffered. He always seemed to rise above it and must surely be remembered as a leader for racial equality.

    Like

  11. araneus1 says:

    Loved it. You do ‘intimate’ with style. Favourite phrase: “when you folded yourself into my shoulder and looked up at me in a way which could only say “Kiss Me.” Terry.

    Liked by 1 person

  12. nelle says:

    Ooh… is there a part II? Steam that letter open!

    Like

  13. wdfyfe says:

    As Frost said, “For once then, something”

    Like

  14. Candy Lebby says:

    Wow Peter, this gave me shivers for the sheer depth of the intimacy you portray. You’ve made my morning. You are a brilliant writer. 💜

    Like

  15. Al says:

    The affectionate compliments from your women readers are perfectly understandable, Peter, but it amazes me how you can write a romantic story that breaks down even the rough exteriors of the male of the species. Over and over again.

    Like

  16. ASH says:

    Are you spying on me through my iPhone?
    You teleport yourself so well with your insightful, sensitive and yearning tale.

    Like

  17. Blended Hope says:

    I loved the scene you set right from the beginning!

    Liked by 1 person

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