Loved And Loss And Lost Loves

I stared at her, and my sight crept into those pooled green eyes. I noticed the pattern of her iris and the shade her eyelashes created. The sun seemed stuck behind the skyscrapers, and as its muted rays sauntered across the windowsill and onto my back, they left me with a certain curious warmth.
'Jonathan,' she said, stirring her coffee and putting the spoon back down, 'it's good to see you again'.
My eyes had travelled south and I found myself analysing her hands, they had changed so much. Her fingernails were painted red and the soft delicateness that they once carried seemed now to be only harsh skin. She paid great attention to the coffee between her hands and managed to mutter something, 'I'm sorry.' I looked away. 'Do you hate me Jonathan?' She said softly but slightly impatiently.
'No,' I replied in a manner which shocked her, 'of course I don't hate you. You had to do what you had to do.' She smiled at this and took a sip from her coffee, but pulled back at once, 'Yowch! This is boiling hot, I'll have to let it cool'.
Steam rose slowly from the porcelain mug where the swampy liquid was waiting, and I followed it closely with my eyes. It swirled to the corner of the room and disappeared without any warning.
'You know I didn't mean to hurt you-' she said.
'Spare me the cliches Sybil, you know full well what you did. Let's just not dwell on that, it's been too long and we have more important matters to discuss,' she seemed shocked by my frankness and pushed her back against the now arched chair.
'It's been too long,' she replied.
Just then I felt myself being dragged out of my body, out of this suit, out of this seat, away from this table and this odd cafe. I could feel myself looking directly into her face, as if it were mine, like I was peering from a mirror, into another world. Her beauty was shocking. I had forgotten just how breathtaking she was. Her face still perfectly symmetrical and her nose slightly crooked but buttoned and straight. Her eyes were the same, knives of black and her hair was wild and lose but kept up in a bun, she always thought it made her look Parisian. Sybil's lips were the only thing different. They seemed thinner now, but the more I studied them the more I recalled their taste and I felt myself being dragged back to Earth.
My body clenched and I could feel something stirring above my nose; I realised I was beginning to cry. Stifling the tears and swallowing I looked away onto the table to the right to where an elderly man was sitting, newspaper in spread out in front of him, fanning his eyesight as he fussed around with the pages.
'Jonathan?' My heart leapt from my chest. 'I'm worried about you.' Her voice seemed to offer no solace and just shuddered and fell into the faint smell of blending and biscuits.
'Thank you,' I replied and sent a smile her way.
'Listen it's getting to 3 and I need to be off,' my heart sank, 'but we definitely need a real catch-up. What are you doing say...' She pulled out a brown leather notepad from her brown leather handbag, and flicked through the pages until she was satisfied. 'Saturday evening? We could get a drink - that is, if you still drink of course,' she joked.
Laughing, I meshed my fingers together and smiled at her, 'yeah I'm free, and yeah I still drink. The Arms, at 8? It's not too hard to get to from the station.'
'I remember exactly where it is, okay Jonathan, I'll see you then.' We both stood up and embraced awkwardly, my hand fitted perfectly around her waist - nothing's changed there. Her slim coal shoes ticked as she headed out, the door shook as it slammed shut and began to tremble in the wind once again. As quaint as an Autumnal leaf I floated back into the seat and felt its hard embrace against my sullied limbs.
I lent across the table to pilfer the biscuit Sybil had left uneaten and that’s when I noticed something strange. The mug had been left perfectly on the saucer, but nestled between the saucer and said corresponding mug there appeared to be a scrap of paper. It was quite far under, which led me to believe she had placed it under the mug when I wasn’t looking, or perhaps slipped it from her hand to its underbelly as she took a gentle sip. Whatever the method, this was trickery.
Naturally, I fished it out and began to scan it over. She couldn’t have written it here, there was far too much there to be done so quickly. Dear Sir/Madame, if you have found this then please look outside the café and chase down the man who was sitting with me and hand him this. If you can’t find him then feel free to read it but I’m not sure if you’ll find what I have to say very interesting - unless you’re the sort of person who enjoys meddling in other people’s lives. On the other side there was a more personal message however, one that I do not wish to remember word for word, but lots of regret and apologising.
The crowds outside were starting to disperse as the clouds gathered and formulated a plan to drench the businessmen and tourists. The trembling door gave me a bit of trouble on my exit, I could not fathom whether to pull it or turn the handle and push, after a brief duel with it and quite a rude interjection from the hulking shop owner, I found my feet firmly on cobblestone once again and as they met grey concrete, grey descended over the street. Then grey drops jumped down between the buildings, then I felt them on my hair and trickling down my face. Then, finally, I felt comfortable again.