50,50

They broke up during the summer. Summer, you ask? Yes, summer. Among the hot dense air, creating rainbows sprinklers, the beach, the sand, the bright colors. When everything heavy and straining is put in the back pocket. When everything is light and entertaining. It made no sense. Practically speaking. Or maybe it did. Maybe they wanted to free up their time for something new and exciting? For something that will make putting things in the back pocket all the easier. Break up with someone that knows you too well. Break up when everything is determined and predictable. Break up when running away is an option and knowing yourself is too much to take on. It was amicable, that late June, early July (dates are hazy) meeting of two on the verge of becoming strangers. Friendship is impossible for the runners. They avoided clichés. They got coffee, they shared a crepe, they ended their relationship. Once a decision was made, it was simple really. They were on the same page of different books. After that meeting came the division of friends, a messy business. As simple as it was for them, much harder it was for the friends. It put a dent in the perfectly shaped summer. Love, the most clichéd (so they did not avoid those), the most unique of feelings. They said love numerous times, perhaps they overused it, perhaps they spent too much getting to know each other to the point where it got uncomfortable, scary, disconcerting. Knowing someone well and truly for what they are with everything they stand for, with everything they have inside, leaving nothing more to know or give, it’s a certain end. Stripped bare of everything. Summer was a good time really, it made it easier, it made it promising, it made them ready for new beginnings. Out with the old, in with the new. Must be the sunshine. Gives too much hope, too little thinking. They each were calm and secure in their knowledge of the right thing. A little bit selfish, a whole lot understanding. Things were divided, conversations finalized. Suddenly, time has passed. Suddenly, unexpectedly, fall arrived. Suddenly, it was lonely and quiet. They walked the streets were they used to go before, at different times, never intersecting. All the leaves are gone, she thought. When will spring come? He thought. New meetings, new experiences. New developments, new growth. New stories. New material. New conversation. Unpredictability. Unlikely actions. She got a tattoo of the world, he traveled. She ran a marathon, he met a swimmer. She danced in the rain with an old friend; he acquired a painting of a rainy night in London. Different books, slightly parallel? Perhaps. They were bound to run into each other; same pages of different volumes can end up in the same place. It was a coffee shop. She was reading, he came to write. He stopped by her table, said helloes. Polite, amicable. She responded in kind, continued reading as he went for his coffee, inspiration and life. But he couldn’t focus, he came back. What do I want? He thought. He walked to her table, sat down and started talking. She missed his voice, she closed the book. So much has happened, so much to cover and tell. They were different, evolved. They were ready.

The books were not different really. The book was read from opposite sides. The page was 50,50.