Nuuttipukki
Parliament Hill
I had this dream.
I had a crazy mad dream that we would give up our jobs and travel around Europe. We’d do Amsterdam and Paris, we’d hit the beach in Barcelona. We’d go island hopping across the Aegean sea. We’d sip espresso in Venice and sink Mad Dogs at the Rynek in Wroclaw.
We’d seek shelter from the heat under the Colonnades in Ferrara, eat pasta with ragù in Bologna, raise a glass of claret in Bordeaux. We’d rent a car and take a long drive through the Black Forest, if we were lucky get snowed in for a day or two.
We’d return via Brussels where we’d succumb to Morte Subite and wake dry-mouthed and hungover, almost missing our train to London. And on the final day before we packed our bags again and left for home I’d take you to one last place. We’d find a bench on Parliament Hill and sit silently hand in hand watching London ebbing and flowing beneath us.
And at that moment I’d turn to you. “Marry me,” I’d say and you’d laugh, a little shocked as you held out your finger and I slipped on the ring.
I had this dream and it was all working out until the very last day, until the moment that we sat on that bench on Parliament Hill.
I tried to hold your hand but you sidled away.
“It’s not working,” you said, “It was never meant to be. I see that now.”
I had the ring in my hand.
I let it go as you walked away.
Blog photograph copyrighted to the photographer and used with permission by utata.org. All photographs used on utata.org are stored on flickr.com and are obtained via the flickr API. Text is copyrighted to the author, Debra Broughton and is used with permission by utata.org. Please see Show and Share Your Work
