Her eyes are like an opalescent moon that shimmers when the stars meet the sea. The wind paints he words in the night sky like pictures.
I met her on a dreary September when the moon was low. It hung like a glass lantern over the sea. The faint smell of pine trees and sycamore leaves filled my lungs.
I was a ghost and she was a ghost and together we’d sing songs of forbidden dreams to the trees and the clouds.
The ground was silver and cold beneath my bare feet. It burned me with such iciness that it felt like I was walking on a million tiny, sharp needles.
I could see her breath as she walked toward me.
We met eyes and our hands interlocked.
We walked to the edge of the cliff and let the wind carry us away.
Her screams pierced the silence of the night.
And then there was
n o t h i n g.