When I first saw her my heart stopped. She was tall, delicate, elegant. Dark hair falling around her shoulders. Milky white skin. She smelled of flowers. But she was cold as ice; unapproachable; disapproving. Day after day I saw her and there was just nothing there. But occasionally, just once in a while, her eyes danced and the tips of her lips curled up into a charming but sardonic smile. I don't think we ever exchanged five words together. She was that kind of woman that it is enough just to look at in wonder.

Recently she died in a car smash.

Last night I had a dream. She was there. We were talking at a party. She was leaning against the wall holding her drink. The music was loud. I bent my head closer to hear what she was saying. She tipped her chin up ever so slightly. I bent down and our lips brushed. Light as leaves blowing on a pavement. And then we kissed. Our mouths opened. Pressing. Nibbling. Tasting. Her mouth was so soft. Everything around us, the music, the party, the people faded. The kiss was all there was in the world. My brain wasn't thinking about where this would lead. There was no expectation. It was just an instant of being in the present. And the kiss was its own end.

I woke up this morning feeling completely at peace with the world. Maybe she came back to say goodbye.
quink quink
36-40, M
Jul 11, 2010