Her hand finds mine somewhere amidst the remote
and a cup of coffee. She intertwines her fingers
seamlessly into the space between mine, and despite the
growing distance between hands and mouths - my breath is lost.
I wake abruptly to find a cold, empty pillow
surrounded by darkness. She is not here.
She’s never been. I turn my face towards the wall
In an effort to forget that I am still alone.
But my thoughts are vivid, and my imagination wild.
In my mind, I create scenes that have yet to unfold
of mountain hikes and Sunday brunches, yoga in the sand
and fifth year anniversaries.
A woman like that is the reason books are left dog-eared
and half-read. The stories she writes with you are far more epic
than any classic with a spine. She is a unicorn. A rare breed made of
honesty combined with class and intrigue. She is permanent.
She is beautiful.
A chance encounter has left me spinning in reverse,
Grasping for every moment she gave me. I collect them
Like seashells and hang them from the ceiling of my mind;
A celestial anomaly, a masterpiece, a reflection of her captivating soul.