September 23, 2014

I remember the first time I saw her. I always will.

You don't forget that kind of woman, that mood, that way of looking, that look. You never believe that you'll be at once lucky and cursed to bear witness to the event that is such a woman, to remember forever the exhilaration of the first instant when she entered the room, to feel forever the withdrawal from the last second when she exited it, in essence, exited your life.

I'll always remember her, her tenderness, her timelessness, a girl exotic yet familiar, though I'm certain her incomparable impression on my heart and on my mind were never considerations of hers. If she knew me at all, it was only as a face among others, admiring her, adoring her, desiring her, fearing her.

I've forgotten myself. I often do when in this frame of mind. Seeing her many vivid images, her many lyrical movements in my long, reliable, damnable memory, I prefer to live there in that wonder than in the opaque gray of my monotonic reality. I will live there in foolish hope, in grand dream, in humble imagination that she would look at me, unworthy me, bewitched me.

I remember the first time I saw her. And the last time. And every time between. I always will.