A Fleeting Dream
Almost Idyllic
I understood the meaning of night.
Cold, harsh. But in the slightest way beautiful.
Sort of like her.
I remember stepping out into the darkness, my toes shrouded in damp grass and cold air.
It seemed like it always rained here. A few drops fell on me from the tree hanging overhead and my lips coiled into a thin smile. That night was special. It was a new moon. I could see each and every star in the painting of the sky. I felt each cloud far, far away. I remembered her.
She always made me smile. She always had that magical, enchanting air to her. She herself was the definition of graceful. Her manner of speaking, of being, of simply existing, made me feel alive again. I remember her gentle touch.
I met her one warm April morning. I stole a kiss from her poised lips in July.
My eyelids dropped upon themselves and enclosed my eyes in a darkness that was more comforting that cold. I rested my mind on the pillow of my thoughts.
She was crashing waves of memories into the coastline of myself.
I guess I'll tell our story now.
