I jumped back into the darkened stoop as disheveled, bloodthirsty men shouted their way to the edge of town. War ravaged through dimly lit streets where I once ran barefoot and hungry.
He gently pulled me close and whispered, "Isn't this perfect?" I watched the oranges and purples of the sky dissolve into the waves. The smell of spice mixed with salt water.
Wind laced with ice stinging my skin as my hair flew in every direction possible. Terror, adrenaline, thrill. The ground below me, skies reaching down.
On my tiptoes, straining. Weary but joyful men, streaming off of the sputtering train. In greens and blacks, hugging the waiting crowds. I let out the breath I've been hanging on to for minutes, hours. Hoping to see those deep brown eyes.
The warm night air wrapped around me like a blanket. Black branches of the apple tree above backlighted by a pearly round moon. An 85 pound pile of fur curled next to me, snore-barking in his sleep.
I stood next to her bed and felt empty. Her skin pale, last breath lingering against thin purple lips. Hands that used to hold mine gently, now still. So fragile, so final.
The spring sun and a gentle breeze touched our shoulders as I looked into his smiling eyes. We were hand in hand, whispering words that meant forever.
Inside an imagination lives a thousand lives.