Talkin after midnight

05- Reunited and it feels so good

"Good evening listeners, It is your freaky fun host Freya here with talking after midnight, and once again my listeners do not disappoint.

You guys saw my question on my website asking if you had ever been reunited with a lost love and I got some amazing feedback. One letter in particular stood out to me when I tell you that when I clicked this email and read my feelings, my heart, my soul, was with Miss Clara from Cincinnati.

Enough about me let's go ahead and turn our ears over to tonight's story."

It’s funny how the most significant moments in life can slip by quietly, like whispers in an echoing hallway. I’ve always believed that words have tremendous power—especially the ones we don’t say.

My name is Clara James, and I’m writing this letter in the hope that it echoes back through time and finds a way to heal wounds I didn’t know were still bleeding.

Right now, I sit cross-legged on my bed, my laptop illuminated, the soft glow flickering against the shadows of my cluttered apartment. It’s been twenty years since I last saw him—the boy who was the love of my life, the one who came to mean everything and then nothing at all.

It was a rainy Tuesday in October when I caught wind of your podcast, "Talking After Midnight." I've been a faithful listener ever since.I.haf to share my story.

While cleaning out my desk drawer, I found an old photo of my lost love, an unassuming picture that betrayed nothing of its extraordinary significance. We were just two high school seniors, heads bent together in laughter, with the world at our feet and dreams dashed across the corridors of Cedar Grove High School. I couldn’t help but reminisce. Maybe it was the solitude of my cozy studio, the scent of jasmine tea wafting through the air, or the nostalgia that rushed over me like a warm hug, but suddenly, my heart was racing with words waiting to be formed.

As I sat there, the rain pattered rhythmically against my window, I felt a sense of urgency. This time, I wanted my words to be heard—a confession to be shared, even if it was to an audience I would never see. So here I am, pouring my heart out into a digital void, with the hope that my thoughts may resonate with someone who carries the same kind of bittersweet longing.

It all began twenty years ago, with a fire that burned brightly in the small town of Cedar Grove. Parker Donovan was the golden boy, lithe and laughing, with an effortless charm that drew everyone in. We were young and dizzy with love, forging our own little universe beneath the stars, with whispered dreams and promises carved in quick-drying cement on the playground after school. I remember the way he’d pick me up after cheerleading practice, always swinging by my house with that goofy smile that made my heart flutter.

But then life happened—college choices got in the way, ambition brewed discontent, and our relationship succumbed to the distance we unwittingly created. I won’t dwell on the past, but every heartbeat, every laugh and lingering look we shared felt like a fragile glass that shattered with a single, misplaced moment. It was a slow unraveling; one that wasn’t so much catastrophic as it was wretchedly mundane.

Fast forward to a week ago, when an old friend messaged me on social media, asking if I’d heard Parker was back in town. I had all but forgotten him, or at least pretended to. Life ambled on, filled with work, friendships, hearty laughs, and heartbreaks of its own—as all lives do. But the thought of Parker resurfacing, after all this time, ignited something in me I hadn’t felt in ages: that familiar rush of youthful attraction, mingled with panic and hope.

I wondered whether Parker felt the same magnetic pull as I did. Did he ever think about the nights we shared deep conversations about changing the world while hiding beneath a blanket fort? Or was I merely a chapter he’d long since closed and tucked away?

My fingers danced nervously across the keyboard as I summarized my own journey since those high school years—the heartbreak of parting ways after our final summer together, the muffled screams of loneliness that echoed through the years in different relationships. I spilled my thoughts about the powerful cocktail of hope and fear surrounding this potential reunion, all while imagining what seeing him again might be like. Would he still have that incredible smile? Would he still tilt his head back with laughter, making the world feel light?

With every word, the letter grew longer, spilling like a timid cascade of memories that longed to be set free. I wrote about watching life’s seasons change, about the times I pretended to be fine when I wasn’t, and how I had painted over years of heartache only to find that the ghosts never quite left. How could they? The echoes of laughter still teased my heart—a reminder of everything I once had and lost.

"And here we are," I typed, trying to keep my heart steady, even as my fingers trembled with the weight of it all. "Twenty years later, and I can still feel the sparks of our youthful love flicker, rejuvenated by the possibility of bridging the gap that fate forced between us."

It wasn't difficult for that mutual friend to invite the old crew out for dinner and a thrilling rush enveloped me, blurring the lines between courage and fear. What if Parker never cared about those memories? What if he’d formed a new life, a family, and I was merely a dusty old relic he had long since forgotten?

I tried to shake off my doubts, focus on positivity , to embrace love, to understand the pain was worth the journey of rediscovery. There is something beautiful about vulnerability, how necessary it is to show up for ourselves and others, even when we’re cloaked in uncertainty.

Just as I was preparing to drift off to sleep, my phone pinged. It was him.... she must have passed along my number. My heart was suddenly in my throat as I opened the screen.

Hey it's parker, I can't wait to see you, sorry if this is a little late. Shelly told me a.little.bit about what you've been up to. This may be odd to say but, I've missed you. I hope that isn't too weird 😂 I look forward to dinner but would love to chat sooner if you're up for it?

A warm wave of excitement rushed over me; I took a deep breath and tucked myself under the warm blankets.

Hey! I'd love to, I was just heading to bed but how about a coffee tomorrow?

I felt a flicker of hope that maybe rekindled love wasn’t as unattainable as I once believed. Sometimes all it takes is a single step, an easier journey paved by words.

As I drifted off to sleep, a soft smile graced my lips; dreams of youthful romance entwined with the promise of new beginnings illuminated my heart.