“Go on a holiday, it’ll help,” everyone had advised.
They knew I needed time to myself, to take my mind off him and to let go.
And that was how I found myself standing in front of the ethereal Colosseum of Rome, admist brittle autumn leaves that traced intricate patterns in the air. Basking under the bars of honey sunlight, it shone with an aura of dignity and splendour, as if encasing all hope there was in the world. Indeed, an edifice would dilapidate, but it would never die, it would always be there. If only humans were Colosseums.
Sighing, I turned my back on the legendary architecture. A sudden aroma of caramalised butter wafted into my nose, melting my senses. It smelt like buttered rolls, his once favourite food. A wave of nostalgia washed over me as I thought of how he used to lick the butter on his lips after finishing the rolls and how simply happy I had been with him.
However, just as easily as he strolled into my life, he walked out of it. Died in a war, they said. Shot by a friend, another revealed. Sacrificed for the country, many claimed.
Following the trail of the scent, I came to a café cosily tucked in the corner of the road. Pushing the door open, my eyes were immediately drawn to the golden buttered rolls by the counter.
"Ciao, come posso aiutarti?" a familiar deep voice asked.
I looked up so quickly that I banged my head against the counter. My disbelieving brown eyes met his clear black ones.
No, it could not be.
Thinking that I could not understand Italian, he continued in English. "You should try the buttered rolls. They’re really the best in the world."
They never did find his body after the war, but I had long since given up hope that he could still be alive.
Shaking and stuttering, I uttered, "Hey, it's me."
He stopped and studied me as if I were a piece of abstract art, piercing my astonished eyes with his. At long last, he gave a small shake of the head, "I'm sorry, I had a major memory lost after going to war. Perhaps we could sit down and talk, so I can get to know you again?"
A gush of tears sprang to my eyes and I resisted the urge to climb over the counter between us to embrace him tight. Smiling through tears, I choked, "Of course, we could sit down and talk."
Indeed, it is the possibility of having a dream come true that makes life interesting - The Alchemist
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