Unfinished Miracle

She sat in the studio, running her palm over the fabric as if stroking skin. Patterns, cuts, orders – it all made sense to her, but never enough to forget Petr. She was a fashion designer, with a job any woman would be proud of. Yet that pride always crumbled the moment she heard, in the distance, the sound of an engine. A motorcycle. The sound that belonged only to him.

He wore just an ordinary T-shirt, stained from work. But she saw the hands. Huge hands. The forearm where the muscle tightened when he fastened something. Not tall, but firm, strong, real. Everything about him was heavy, dense, unpolished – and that was exactly what drew her in. He never wore perfume, but his body, the mixture of iron, gasoline, and sweat, was the purest fragrance in the world for her.

They had known each other for fifteen years. They always came back to one another. And every time it seemed their paths would finally separate, that he would go elsewhere, that she would finally cut the thread, fate wouldn’t allow it.

Sometimes Klaudie wondered if it was a punishment or a gift. But she knew one thing: there wasn’t a man alive who could hold her the way Petr did. His arms always wrapped around her in a way that made everything else disappear. And when he left, the emptiness was unbearable.

Petr shut himself in the workshop. It was his sanctuary. There, he didn’t have to pretend everything was fine. No one told him how to live, no one told him what was right. The air was thick with oil, bolts and wrenches lay scattered across the table, along with a half-dismantled engine. Everything made sense—except he himself.

He knew no one had ever given him what she did. She was smart. She could read him, even when he thought he was impenetrable. And every time he thought he had erased her from his mind, the same image returned:

the way she looked at him when, in passing, she once said she might get married. That look. That sentence. In that moment, he knew he would lose her. And the tears that welled in his eyes reminded him how much he belonged to her.

When they saw each other again, just a few glances were enough. It was never just physical attraction. It was everything – their memories, their laughter, their silence. Klaudie knew that if he touched her, she would fall apart. Petr knew that if he didn’t touch her, he would lose his mind.

And so they found each other again. His hands, her breath. His body, her fragility – which was never weakness, but strength. And in those moments, Petr knew he couldn’t survive without her. Yet the blow of reality always came…

It had been years ago, one night by the reservoir. The music playing there wasn’t their plan – it just pulled them in. Klaudie had thought Petr would never stand up – he always said dancing was a waste of time. Yet he rose, lifted her into his arms, and in front of everyone carried her onto the dance floor. The point was simple: he was hers. In that moment.

That memory came back to him again and again. Her hair, as she brushed it from her face. Her lips, when she made jokes no one else understood. Her hands, stroking his neck when he was angry at the whole world. And her care – the way she could be furious, yet always made sure he knew she was with him.

Petr was never a coward. He just couldn’t bring himself to believe that things could truly be this good. That it could last. The feeling that he didn’t deserve it always dragged him back. And still – whenever he closed his eyes, her laughter returned.

There were years when they missed each other, when he came back, and when she swore she would manage without him. But every time they met, it was clear that these two were bound by a thread that simply wouldn’t snap.

It had started in a small pub. Klaudie sat there with a friend, a cold beer on the table, a blanket draped over her shoulders because she was chilled. She was dressed lightly – skirt, tank top – and the evening breeze swept in.

Two motorcycles, noise drowning out everything.

When they were about to leave, Klaudie slipped off the blanket, stood up, and walked toward the bike. Petr just stared at her.

And in that moment, she simply thought: to hell with everything. She hiked up her skirt and jumped onto the back seat behind him. And many times afterward she heard him say that was the moment he was finished. From then on, it carried them both.

But Klaudie also knew the pain of seeing him smile at another woman. It felt like her world was being shattered into a thousand pieces.

They had known each other fifteen years. Apart, together, apart. And every time it seemed this was the end, that they would finally go their separate ways, a single moment was enough—and everything broke open again.

Klaudie wondered if it was a punishment or a gift. But she knew one thing: no one had ever held her like he did. When his arms wrapped around her, the whole world disappeared. And when he left, the emptiness was unbearable.

⸻

Sometimes Petr told himself it would be easier to walk away forever. To live a life where her laughter wasn’t hidden in every engine’s roar, where he wasn’t haunted by the look only she could give him. But every time he saw her, he knew that would be a lie.

Klaudie, in turn, sometimes swore she would never let him back in. That she would build her life differently—without waiting, without the endless uncertainty. And yet, when an evening came when he called her, instead of saying no, she simply said: “Then come.”

And he came. He always came.

They never knew if it was a beginning or an ending. But every time they embraced, both felt they were alive only in those moments.

And perhaps that was why it lasted so long, without explanation.

There were nights that could never be forgotten. Nights when everything outside ceased to exist. When reality stayed outside the door and inside, there were only the two of them. Smiles, tenderness, intoxication. Their last night together was like something from another world. Like a wedding night without a wedding. Three hours of foreplay, no rush, only gentleness, patience, and love. A night where everything fit – bodies, breath, desire, and tenderness. And that was why it hurt even more when it ended.

Since the day he tied himself down at home, he felt suffocated. He told himself that was how it should be. That a man needed to be anchored. That you couldn’t keep chasing a feeling. And yet, every time he heard a woman’s laughter, it was hers he remembered. Every wave of hair across a stranger’s face pulled him back to the way Klaudie laughed.

He thought it was behind him, buried. And then, a year later, a message from her arrived. Just a few words. But his heart pounded so hard he thought it would give out. He knew he was doing something terribly wrong. He just didn’t know how to make it right.

Petr sat in the workshop. The engine lay before him, dismantled down to the last bolt, and he just stared blankly. His fingers still smeared with oil. The emptiness inside him roared louder than any machine.

He knew exactly where every piece belonged, and yet his mind was completely blank. It was just a piece of metal he couldn’t bring back to life.

Klaudie sat in the studio. The fabric lay before her. She held the needle in her hand, but she couldn’t thread it. The thread kept slipping, refusing to go where it should. It was maddening. Everything reminded her of him – his hands, his forearm, the way he could shut himself in the workshop and shut out the whole world. She felt just as bound as he did. The thread trembled between her fingers, and suddenly she was completely blank inside.

They both know they belong to each other.

They both knew they had the chance to create something utterly brilliant. That if they joined, something greater than themselves could be born. But they sat apart, each alone, and didn’t know how to begin.

What do I have to do? What do I want? Who do I want? he thought.

What must we go through for it all to fall into place? she wondered.

And in both of them, the same question rose, without either knowing:

What has to happen so that every night we fall asleep next to each other, and every morning wake up knowing the world is completely in its place?

 

© Tereza Sklovská | Different Worlds by Sklovská

This poem and text is protected by copyright. Any copying, modification, or distribution without the author's consent is prohibited.