A few days ago, I was thinking about time.
The difference a year can make...
It can take a frightful night and turn it into a wonderful story to be shared with friends.
Time can make reality seem like a distant dream.
It can change perspectives, personalities and love.
LOVE!
Time has such a strange way with love, it can hold tightly to it, or let it fly away to rest with the forgotten or unmentioned moments of your history.
I am discussing this with you now, because I have a story to tell you.
BOY DO I HAVE A STORY TO TELL YOU!
But, time... it's a funny thing, although this happened almost six months ago, it still seems so precious. So, perfect, that sharing it seems personal, and exciting. I don't mind sharing personal things on this blog, that's why I made it, silly!
I guess
I just don't know how this story ends, which makes it seem unfinished.
So, in my handmade journal that I took with me everywhere on my travels this spring, lies a story...
A story that goes a little something like this:
This is the story of my German romance in New Zealand
I was dropped off in a small surfer town on the western coast of New Zealand. Left on the side of the road in my only pair of clean clothes and my dirty backpack weighing down my heart and my body. I had come to this small town in search of adventure and myself. But when my fellow travelers dropped me off I instantly felt lost. I had no idea what I was doing in
this small town. On a whim and random recommendations I had followed the curvy back roads to here. Here, being Raglan. A summer surf town where every store closes at 4:00 and most of the houses stay empty for the majority of the year. Barefooted and backpacked, I tried my luck and asked a local if there was a hostel near by.
A New Zealand native with a thick accent told me about Raglan Backpackers, the only and best place to stay. A place that was "sweet as" And, wow, was it. As I checked in, I noticed the hammocks, hot tub, community kitchen and the gorgeous view of the bay. A sweet Swedish girl named Anna showed me around the place and curiously asked me more about myself... I noticed that everyone I saw seemed to already know each other, and if they didn't they were asking. The new faces and accents were as vast as the ocean around us. As I dropped off my heavy backpack in the 12 person dorm room that would be my home for the next week, a brown haired boy, with skin the color of cream toffee and eyes as clear and green as the deep sea smiled at me from his bunk.
The first thought that went through my head as I picked my bed and settled in was something like: "Oh, no you don't girly, not again."
As I found myself giving my heart a mental pep-talk I grabbed my stuff as quickly as possible and ran outside. Headed for the black sand beaches, knowing that fresh air and squeaky sand was the best remedy for a fluttered and cluttered head.
When I got back, his alarmingly white teeth were there again, "We're having a barbeque tonight, would you like anything?" He said in a thick German accent.
To be completely honest, I don't remember what I said, (partially stunned by his good looks, and partially in awe of his kindness) all I know, is that watching him cut up potatoes, mince garlic and de-stem rosemary was better than most New Zealand sunsets. He smiled with such ease, laughing at the little things and danced around the kitchen as he cooked. His friends and him cracked jokes in broken English, sliding back into fast German when they got deep into discussion. For the first time, I found myself wishing I spoke German. How did I not notice how sexy it was until now?? By the end of the night, I was so rapped up in his charisma, that I found myself saying that I wanted to learn to surf. Tomorrow.
Wait, I said WHAT?
Not only am I deathly afraid of the ocean, but I am one of the least likely people to be found in the water when there is perfectly good sand to be suntanning on nearby. But, with the help of my new German friends, I found myself wiggling into a wet suit the very next day.
I only lasted about 45 minutes in the water, getting pushed, bashed and shoved to the bottom of the cold, and fierce ocean... before even getting on to the board. But, I say to this day, that 25 dollars was worth seeing his warn body strip out of a wet suit later that day.
That night, I drank a bottle of wine, and laughed as him and his friends sat with me by the cool ocean on the path down to the ocean. Listening to country music for the first time (for them) and watching his two friends getting higher, and higher. Giggling more and more as the night got darker and the clouds passed over the moon. That night, I noticed his confidence. He sang and danced with an ease that is hard to find anywhere. We held hands for split second, then went our separate ways for bed.
The next day, we wanted to see who would get tipsier off one bottle of wine (my tolerance being at an all time high) The whole day was spent hot tubing in the rain, playing Australian football, (which included a little bit of flirting and way too much giggling on my part.)
That night, I learned more about him than I have most people I have known for years. It was raining out, and so we sat under a porch, listening to the rain, and to songs on an i-pod and shared stories about our past, present and future. I learned that he is one of the middle children of four kids, he sang "Oh Christmas tree" in german, just the way my grandpa sings it every year at Christmas... It went back and forth like that for a long time, the deep stuff, the dreams and worries, the laughter and giggles.
It was a full moon, he kept looking at me under deep, dark lashes... I knew then that we were going to kiss. I was scared, as I usually am, that in one single second it could all be gone. The excitement, the magic, the smiles...
But then we kissed.
We kissed and I forgot my name.
I forgot where I was and I forgot how to breath.
My head floated out of my body and watched the whole thing take place.
The way he put his hand on my neck, the way he looked at me.
The way he whispered that he could kiss me forever.
My head watched it all.
And I felt like the happiest girl in all of New Zealand.
Me?
He liked kissing me?
Frizzy haired me?
He did! And we did, until we fell asleep holding each others hands tightly.
Both. Because one was not enough.
The next day was another spent on the beach, me, thinking through my life (as per usual) and him, showing off his talent on a surf board. We held hands, built sandcastles, and ran down the beach screaming at the waves. Even looking at him made my heart flutter.
How did this end up happening? This feeling in my heart? And did I really just have tonight with him?
After dinner we went for a walk, he hold me about his sisters, his life and the stuff that I usually avoid talking about with guys, the stuff that hurts for them to share. Yet, it didn't have the same weight as some peoples stories. His love for his family emanated out of him when he shared stories about them, and I could tell then that the crinkles around his eyes from smiling were permanently there. We shared one last night kissing and whispering early into the morning. And then, as soon as it was here- that feeling- those feelings- he was gone. Our last morning together was spent holding hands, kissing sweetly, trying to put unsaid wishes and intentions into each kiss. Each look. As I walked him and his friends to the bus stop, my heart hurt and ached. We shared our last look and kiss on the front steps of the Raglan library. And then my German romance left.
He was gone. Gone away.
