One day our babies will be grown. When mine fly the nest, I will look back at my life. You…you will have succeeded in your career. Your two kids will marry earlier than mine; mine will still be studying. All of them will be big enough, strong enough, and resilient enough to face life on their own. I will sit with my husband. We will talk about time, saying how fast it flies—just like our grown babies. We will feel wiser from all our mistakes, though I am not entirely sure we actually will be. We will look back at our experiences and remember certain stories, emotional failures, and professional successes. We will have lost some family members and gained a very few friends. We will remember our trips and the people we met along the way. And there, in these memories, I will remember you. I won’t remember the exact places or dates, but I will remember that I missed you once. From your side, you will look at your wife, proud to have succeeded where you failed the first time. Somewhere between the two women, you will remember me.
When our babies are grown, we will judge ourselves and ask if we did things right. We will blame ourselves for our mistakes and missed opportunities. We will wonder, “What if…?” Yet, when you look at your wife and I look at my husband, we won’t regret our choices. Because they will be the ones who brought us what we couldn’t give to each other. Maybe we will regret what we said. We will finally have the distance and time to judge ourselves and truly value one another. I will wonder where you are, who is making you happy, and if you have finally found yourself. No…we won’t regret, and we won’t be sad. Because at the moment we decided to separate, we were certain. Time works wonders; it will help us forgive and forget. When our babies are grown, I won’t find your gaze in their eyes, and you won’t tell your children how much they look like me. During all these years, we will have thought of each other only on rare and specific occasions.
When our babies are grown, we will change physically; we will alter our habits and our places. Our lives will be full of heavy events and delightful joys we never shared. We will be so far from each other in heart, mind, time, and distance. When our babies finally leave us to ourselves, we will feel old. And in that moment, when I remember you, I won’t want you to see me—but I will want you to know I am fine. If by some impossible chance we happen to meet, you will ask about my kids, thinking they are not yours. I will ask about yours, thinking they are not mine.
One day, we will be old.
Zyphera 