The Last Emperor

I left home six summers ago on a hot and sultry day with a fifty-two kilo frame and a twenty six kilo suitcase. An unknown city, lay before my eyes in all her splendor, with towering heights and pretty faces. I was twenty one and in love.

There she stood before me, my beautiful young friend - her hair caressing her cheeks as the sun went down in the distance. She was twenty and in love.

I went back to the waters many years later to see the silhouette of my young friend - yet I did not recognize her face. They told me it was her, who I had loved all along and I believed them. It was raining, perhaps they could not see.

I met a familiar face on a moonlit night, when the waves crashed against the sea. It was the face of my friend who I thought I had lost. She was twenty six and in love with the idea of love. I should have thanked her for all she had done but I walked away.

A few steps ahead, there she stood, my beautiful young friend, no longer a girl of twenty. They said she was loved by many but why was she so melancholy, why did I see tears streaming down from her cheeks. Her face seemed familiar but they said she was not the one I knew. It was raining, perhaps I could not see.

I went back and looked into the stream to remember the face of the one I had loved. I could only see my own reflection staring back at me. I should have understood.

I met my friend on a hot and sultry night, no longer the young girl I had always thought she would be. Her face seemed familiar but they said they didnt know for sure. I was twenty eight and in love.

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