Memories: The Ephemeral Love Story of a Writer and a Poet

Writer:

One day, while I was watering the flowers in our garden, a man caught my attention. A height of about five feet and eleven inches tall, tan skin and a well-built body. I stopped for a minute just to stare at him.

Poet:

As my feet kissed the concrete floor of the street,

An enticing creation tempted me to meet

The stare of a nymph in the garden flower,

An attraction so strong, weakens me through its power.

Writer:

As our eyes met, I can't help but to blush for I wasn't expecting that he would notice me. Without realizing, my lips curve to smile followed by my heart beat—racing. "What a shame!" I scold myself.

Poet:

Seems like I've seen the universe with that genuine smile,

Froze from walking, got stranded in this fantastic aisle.

Should I continue heading to my destination?

Or drown in this street, keep an eye to this flower and make a proposition?

Writer:

I want to be with him, but fate forbid. I'm the past, he's the present. It's very impossible for the two of us to be together. And even with time machine, still, we won't meet—he won't choose to meet me, to be with me.

Poet:

As I stare intently at her aesthetic feature,

She's fading, vanishing! And someone's pulling me—the future.

Guess I should keep going—away from this place that made me broken,

After all, memories are meant to be forgotten.