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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2310484-REGRESSION
by guivas
Rated: E · Fiction · Emotional · #2310484
Love lives with us, even when it ends.
REGRESSION

When love ends but we still have memories, it would be lovely to be able to travel in time, remembering the spirits of that love but the other way around, starting now and ending in the past.

We would look today at the eyes of who was our love and we’d look for the sparkle of what once existed.
Maybe there was something left, or maybe there would not be anything last if in her heart it had all been extinguished.

But we would know with certainty that it was there, that that love was ours because wherever we were it soothed our soul.

Then we would travel a little more towards the past. We would look again at those eyes and from there we would see, cheering, the brilliance of the love that joined us. We would feel the happiness of her greeting and the warmth of her hug. We would take that lovely face in our hands, we would close our eyes and we would try from her lips the sweetness that today we miss so much.

We would once again enjoy of that exquisite feeling, that not because it belongs to the past would it stop being real.

And being there, at her side, we would deepen the sensual limits of that relationship that we relive today in our dreams. We would hug with more passion, we would kiss with more sweetness and, if possible, we would make up for our probable mistakes to some extent, attenuating a little the shadows of the moment.

We would travel a little more towards the past, and we would find, between those friends, that blessed being that motivated us to go on this trip.

She would be there, with her laughter, her look and all her charms. She would say hi to us cordially but her look wouldn’t tell us anything. However, her indifference wouldn’t hurt us because we would know, with complete certainty, that her love for us still hasn’t awakened.

How beautiful it would be to revive those instants however many times we wanted, savoring once and again the birth and the constancy of that feeling, but with the soul already armored against the emptiness, because we’d know beforehand that when we would come back to the present that love wouldn’t exist anymore, because we can’t change the past.

END.
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