nubivagantmusings:

a trapeze artist.

He flew through the air with the greatest of ease, and after his dazzling performance, I mustered up all my confidence to ask him out on a date.

Two weeks. The circus stayed in town for only two weeks so we knew it couldn’t —wouldn’t last.

We went on normal dates that included as much conversation as possible. No movies, no heavy dinners of silenced chewing —just us learning about one another.

He grew up in Ohio, decided he had enough of small town life. He lived a cliche; and I adored it. And I tried hard to bite back words too early to say.

He fell in love once before, when he first started out; with one of the elephant trainers. She had a gentle voice and a soft touch, but he dared not tell her he loved her for she planned to elope with a man she met in a city they visited. The coincidence (or irony) of the situation was not lost on me. I’d like to think he got it too. He looked deep into my eyes as he said in a heartbreaking tone, how maddeningly in love she must have been with this other man, because she still left even when she knew how much the head of the circus disapproved. She stole away in the night, wearing the robes she arrived in. He told me that was the last he’s seen of her, but occasionally he would receive updates from her via mail at cities they would stop at.

“As long as she is happy.”

He apologized for taking up our time with his own sorrowful tale, and forcing a grin, I alluded to being pleased to be his confidant.

I suppose this was when I abandoned the silly—deep notions I had for him, and his grip around my heart loosened, as oppose to his grip on the trapeze he so skillfully mastered. Slowly, he fell into a corner of my heart I couldn’t let myself touch.

The two weeks were up and we parted ways; a sweet smile lingering on his lips after he kissed my cheek goodbye.

…I wonder how many girls welcomed him into their arms, finding him looking up instead at the trapeze and seeing his lost love perched atop it.