A low, descending hum in my ears, pinching off to a mute, as the bees outside the window slow to motionlessness.The bottle slips from my grasp and freezes before the ground, suspended, patiently awaiting fate. The silhouette of flowing, floating, lustrous hair, the grace with every light step, the endearing, innocent eyes that dig into your soul, rooting its fingers and nails deep into its hide, forcing you to ask that unanswerable question with no promise to the terms of the answer—God the eyes. There’s an echo for every footstep, agonizingly tugging the strings of the mind and heart; the sensation of cold and hot blood pulsing through every vein. The heartbeat, the butterflies. Enlightenment and loss, the heart aches and bleeds, whines and croons.
And then, of a sudden, the light fades. The bottle shatters and sound accelerates to its natural harmonic.
Gone. There’s nothing left but to dry your shoes.
It will be fine.
And after drying my eyes, I can realize:
I miss her.