Bruce
Memories really came in dreams for me, but this one did. I had been lying on the bed, turning over on the white sheets and looking over my shoulder to find her. Her dirty blonde hair spread out and cascaded beneath her head. It was her profile I saw, and it was damn near beautiful profile if I might add. She had one of those Roman noses, slightly hooked at the tip, downturned eyes with a character they said had no place on a woman’s face. Yet it was all the more alluring—why she was distinct, why she was separate, why she was perfect. Her lips were slightly parted as she slept, her chest rising and falling with each breath she took—a sign of life, a sign that I was alive.
I smiled and reached for her dirty blonde hair, grabbing a lock of curls between my index and middle fingers an
