Ficlets

She rests her head on my shoulder, her unruly hair tickling my face in the gentle breeze.

Somewhere, the sun’s setting, but here on the porch, blocked by houses and, beyond that, the woods, all we see is the light pink stain spreading across the sky.

Everything shines in gold when the sun sets in the summer.

I’m afraid to look at her. Afraid she’ll move, afraid the moment will cease to be perfect. Afraid that I might forget this. That I might forget being like this, here with her. Afraid she’ll talk, or I’ll talk, and something will remind me that she doesn’t love me in quite the same way I love her.

There are fireflies twinkling on the edge of the yard, and as I watch them, I realize I’m holding my breath.

I risk a glance. Her quiet, green eyes dance with the fading sunlight. Her nose and cheeks are sprinkled with tiny freckles. Sunburned. Always sunburned.

I look away again.

She’s humming something softly against my favorite green shirt.

What I’m really afraid of is forgetting her.