The scent of possibility

What if...

In the heat of a foreign sun, 
where cicadas noisily hum   
to the early twilight, 
I find him— 
my past wrapped in the warmth of now, 
more noble lines etched into his skin, 
a weight of years carried like a suitcase, 
his laughter still a spark igniting something deep.

He stands with her, shadowed by expectation, 
the kind of life I once thought I wanted; 
she smiles, with her wedding ring on, unaware of the storm beneath our shared gaze— 
an electric current that flickers between us,   
a pulse that quickens as if we never left each other. 

Time has cast its spell over us;   
yet in this moment—this shimmering fragment—   
we are our genuine selves again: reckless and wild,   
two moths drawn to the flame we once were. 

I remember nights filled with whispers—   
our souls entwined under stars that felt like fate.   
What is it about those familiar glances?   
The way his eyes still hold galaxies I could get lost in?   
My heart thrums a rhythm only he can conduct.   

Would it be treachery or freedom?   
To slip away from what’s safe and known?   
To taste him again—so sweetly forbidden—   
and surrender to that roaring fire inside me?   

We speak words heavy with nostalgia,   
but silence hangs thick between them like smoke.   
The air crackles with possibilities unspoken;   
I catch my breath as he leans closer.   

"Do you feel it too? The urge to ignite what was dormant?"   
His hand brushes against mine—a fleeting touch—    
and suddenly all reason evaporates into summer haze;    
here is the weight of choices made and unmade—a lover's dilemma.

With each smirk shared across the table,   
with every stolen glance beneath her oblivious gaze,   
the longing swells like ocean tides beckoning me home.   

It would be so easy to drown in this desire:   
to rise up from ashes forged in memory’s fire —    
but here lies clarity tangled in chaos;    
what do we want when faced with remnants of love?

A mere moment exists between past and present;   
it holds both sweetness and sorrow—the scent of possibility.   
If I dare step across that line once more —      
will regret follow like shadows at dusk?   

But then again… perhaps there’s beauty
in embracing such reckless abandon,
to lose myself within those familiar depths
and let passion blaze anew,
if only for an evening,
beneath this relentless sun,
in another country where senses know no bounds.

What if?..

[2024/2025]