I caught this couple in a sweet goodbye in front of the Oxford early one Sunday morning. Walking by, I created a love story that surpassed the street’s steamy grates.
Were they mountain-crossed lovers? Her from Grand Junction, far over the pass. He from a homestead on the Kansas line? (Logically, this story suddenly being set in 1840.) Did he use the line, so appropriate in the mile high city, “You take my breath away?” Did she confuse her heart palpitations for infatuation, not infarction?
I can’t walk past a hotel in the morning and wonder if the couple I’ve caught kissing goodbye are secret lover spies who will then have to hunt me down for the film. College friends who met by chance in a bar the night before and rekindled a love long forgotten. Julia Roberts and Richard Gere. Hotel employeess just off shift, racing outside to embrace — where corporate policy can’t hold them back. Or, you know. They could just be a married couple leaving a hotel, happy to have one more moment together before returning home to a house full of kids and responsibility.