2:42 AM
This weekend moved at an agonizingly slow pace, a stark contrast to the speed of the two weeks before. The hours stretched endlessly, as if time itself had drifted into weightlessness, with each moment suspended, lingering in the air.
In my search for Virginia’s new contact information, I revisited old emails from 1998 to 2002, browsing through forgotten folders. The atmosphere, with its soft, haunting melodies, stirred an overwhelming sense of sadness, but one that was oddly peaceful. As I read through emails from Albert, Jon, and others, I found myself back in a time long past – especially the emails between June and me.
Ah, June… As the music played and sleep tugged at me, I felt the weight of my longing. Though our brief 2.5-month relationship in early 2001 ended long ago, it was the most beautiful chapter of my life. June healed parts of me that I never thought could be mended. She was everything I wasn’t: mature, responsible, elegant, street-smart, and endlessly compassionate. At 22, I was a boy compared to her 25 years, but in that short time, she made me feel complete.
I recall a night at Rendezvous Cafe with Albert and June. The ambience was perfect – candlelight flickering between us, soft chatter from below, and the warm glow of fluorescent light casting a tranquil air around us. June sat beside me, folding origami, gently rolling paper into a ring for my finger, and kissing my hand. Every so often, I would ask if she was bored, but she always smiled and said, “No, just keep talking.” She was always so sure that no matter what, I would be there with her.
I loved that about her – her quiet confidence and understanding that no matter what, she always had me.
The story of how we met is simple: a mutual friend, James, asked me to look after June when she came to Vancouver in early 2001. Our relationship quickly deepened, but a small misunderstanding in February brought pain for both of us. Yet, with Albert’s help, we resolved it, and the rest of our time together was serene.
In April, I gave her a children’s book, some origami roses, a letter, and a cassette of a bedtime story I’d made for her. As she held my hand, tears filled her eyes. That final moment at the airport, when we shared our last kiss and she turned to look back at me, remains etched in my heart. I wanted to leave her with a smile, a lasting memory.
That night, alone, I cried silently in front of the mirror. June had been the one who truly made me feel whole. She was the only one who stood by me when I needed someone, the only one who gave me peace.
Even now, I think of her sometimes. My feelings are different from those in 2001 – nostalgic, tender, but still, I hope she found someone who treats her with the respect and love she so richly deserves. Of all my past relationships, June is the only one who truly earned the happiness she gave me. And for that, I will always be grateful.
bows
3:08 AM
June was heat. Not just in name, but in the way she felt against you, the way she kissed you deep and slow, the way she wrapped herself around you like a fire you weren’t sure you should touch—but did anyway.
She wasn’t meant to stay. You both knew that. She was a moment, a feeling, a summer storm that left its mark and moved on.
But gods, love, wasn’t she intoxicating while she lasted?