Lingering Impressions

The only thing I know is that she was real.

Was she beautiful? That was gone before our lips parted, before my eyes opened, before the first raindrop tumbled down to kiss the grass in the gray morning. Did she laugh? No, never. She smiled. The only smile I ever saw. Coy. Pure. As if she had never truly smiled before. Pure as the joy of finding someone to truly share your joy. Of finding a companion. I guess I remember that, too: we were companions. I'm sure of it. She wore a wig, once. Red. Playfully, poorly affixed. Her brown hair stuck out, gently framing her face as she looked up at me in expectation. Distracting. Mesmerizing.

We were together, and I was changed. For a moment, but in a place where moments are lifetimes strung together. I feel her absence. I know the meaning of longing: to discover what had been missing and to lose it again. A bitter return. A mournful homecoming.

She was real. As real to me as anyone is. As real as you are. So I'll wait. I have no choice.

Until I see her again.