Route 66

Route 66 is not just a road — it’s a journey through the quiet chambers of memory, where love once bloomed, and where time stands still long enough for a man to rediscover the echoes of himself.

Since I started this journey, my mind had been busy — preparing myself, rehearsing what I might say when I saw her.

My heart was racing. After all these years, I could hardly believe it.

The first love — or perhaps I should say, the first wings that lifted me into the pure sky of a lover’s gaze.

Life back then was simple, honest, and full of color.

Our eyes spoke the language of longing, of wanting to stay together, to love, to kiss without end.

I fixed my gaze on the road ahead.

On both sides stretched wide, open plains, scattered with dry shrubs and thorns.

Far ahead, low hills stood still, as if time itself had forgotten them.

The road curved like a snake approaching its prey — sliding quietly through the dry brush, shimmering under the heat, its light trembling like a mirage of water to a dying thirst.

Lost in thought, I didn’t notice when the car began to slow.

Soon it rolled to a stop at the side of the road.

Instinctively, I glanced at the fuel gauge — empty.

I stepped out, took my phone, and tried to call for help,

but the screen simply said: “No signal.”

I sat on the trunk of the car, waiting, hoping another vehicle might appear in the distance.

The sun was slowly handing over its duty to the other half of the world.

As I stared into the horizon, memories began to stir —

the old days when I was lost in the wings of love with her.

I smiled unconsciously, replaying our sweet conversations,

every word echoing like a forgotten melody.

Then, out of nowhere, her voice from our last talk echoed in my mind:

“Time flies, doesn’t it? How many grandchildren do you have now?

Mine are almost starting families of their own. What about yours?”

I couldn’t answer. My thoughts froze.

When we found each other again — after half a century — through the miracle of the internet,

neither of us had asked about marriage or children.

We were simply happy,

two lost souls rediscovered,

talking with such excitement we could hardly breathe.

Our words overlapped,

repeating like a vinyl record stuck in the same groove.

We had turned into two teenagers again — carefree, weightless, and alive.

But now… that thought hit me suddenly and unsettled me —

not because of her, but because of myself.

What would my children think of me?

After all these years, what made me reach for a forgotten love?

Believe me, it wasn’t passion — just curiosity.

That’s what I told myself.

But deep down, in a quiet corner of my heart,

a small voice whispered:

“You’re lying.”

And maybe that voice was right.

Maybe it wasn’t just curiosity.

Maybe it was the road itself — Route 66 —

calling me back to where I had first known what love meant,

where my heart had once learned both joy and loss.

Perhaps I wasn’t searching for her at all,

but for the version of myself that existed when love was still young,

when life was still a song played under the endless sky.

The silence around me deepened.

The last rays of the sun stretched across the asphalt like gold dust.

I stood still, feeling the wind brush past my face —

warm, familiar, forgiving.

And for the first time in years,

I didn’t feel old.

I just felt… human.

⸻

Faramarz Parsa

A whisper between thought and light.

یادداشت نویسنده(فارسی)

جاده ۶۶

جاده ۶۶ فقط یک راه نیست،

سفری است در سکوتِ خاطره‌ها —

آنجا که عشق جوانه زد،

زمان در خاموشی نفس کشید،

و مردی بازمی‌گردد،

نه برای یافتن کسی،

بلکه برای دوباره شناختنِ پژواکِ خویش.

میانِ غروبِ خورشید و افقِ بی‌پایان درمی‌یابد

که برخی سفرها هرگز پایان ندارند —

فقط منتظر می‌مانند تا بازگردیم.

فرامرز پارسا