Party of One

"She lends her pen to thoughts of him that flow from it in her solitary. For she is his poet and he is her poetry." ~ Lang Leav



Her delicate hand held the stem of the wine glass as she placed it back on the table, her finger tracing the rim as she looked at her watch. It was 20 minutes past the time she requested he meet her in the letter she sent. He never replied but then she didn't expect him to. They'd been writing letters back and forth for nearly three years. Often they were filled with a cool wit and ease that came naturally between them. Sometimes, too, the letters were insightful, searching and saying much more than each wanted to admit. They agreed they would meet one day but never saying where or when.

On a sunny day last month, when her heart was filled with curiosity and her mind with bursting optimism, she penned him the letter with the arrangements she'd made for them. His lack of reply did not deter her, for she knew this was him ruminating and struggling with his own thoughts.

Staring at the blood-red roses that were part of the table's ensemble, a small warm smirk fell across her face as she reflected on how happy the last few years had been for her. All of her life seemed to stop in an instant and change direction the very day she laid eyes on him. His wry grin and somewhat sad eyes staring back at her from the book's dust jacket as it sat in the window of Penrith's Books & Letters.

There he was. As if he'd been waiting for her and now she finally decided to show up and take notice.

Buying the book, it took a mere and intense hour to read. An afternoon that changed the course of her life forever. Imbued with a deep sense of purpose and fate, she transformed herself, day after day.
Their correspondence lifting each one higher like stars aligning.

She looked down at her watch again, now an hour had passed. He wasn't coming.
As her heart sank deep in her chest and she stood to wrap her shawl around her, the waiter approached with an envelope. A pebble grey envelope containing a note written in exquisite yet masculine penmanship.

" I am here. I will always be here. Some fires are inextinguishable. Why must you have further proof, my dear? You look lovely as I knew you would. More so, even.  This is all we'll ever really need."


Startled, she glanced quickly around the dimly lit cafe. Nobody inside but her.

A party of one.