A Voice like a River

She was the projection of everything I’d ever wanted to be. She was like someone had mixed up all of my favorite summer afternoons in a cosmic bowl and poured them out into a person – this girl. Even in the winter she didn’t walk. No, she never walked. It was almost as though she floated.

The air, it sort of swam around her.

She seemed to be everywhere I was, in everything I did. I breathed her in, that girl, and, for some strange reason, I felt as though it made me better. Better, in a different sense of the word. Made me feel like I was hanging on to a piece of summer myself.

And who can ever be – ever even think of being – old, when they have summer in their hand, and a warm breeze flowing through their veins?

She had a sort of sunset glow that made the breath catch in my lungs. She had a voice like a river.

I regret that I never worked up the courage to speak to her. By the time I finally felt like I might have words enough to tell her what she did to me, it was too late.

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