Time

He looked into the mirrors where he first saw her reflection. In his memories, there she stood, in her beautiful gown, with her smile which he never fails to adore at every sight of it. But in reality, there she stood - disappearing each time he longed to hold her close to his heart.

Their story was one of norm. They had a simple relationship. He wasn't somebody great, nor was she. He was never rich, nor had she ever expected him to be. In other words, he was somebody forgettable, somebody unnoticeable; but she never cared.

They say that when love strikes, time stops. You would stare into your beloved's eyes and sink deep within, and just for that moment, forget about everything but the one staring back into your eyes. The euphoria that fills your heart increases. And all these happen just at the strike of Cupid's arrow.

He had once had that moment. But that moment never mattered that much.

For him, when love strikes, he wants time to slow down, so that every action would be done slowly. Every touch would sting with glee and blessedness; every gaze would burn with passion, yearn and thanksgiving and imprint into his skin and heart, fossilize and never go away; every embrace would be warmth trailing deep into his skin, reminding him that he would be able to cherish the time longer.

Time won't stop, because if time stops, all is superficial. Time should go on, but significantly slow.

But now, she is gone, and he is alone. The stinging touch, the passionate gaze, the warming embrace - all will never be remembered, for he, like all of us, forget things easily.