Winds of Reverie

(February 2008)

Winds of Reverie

          The ghost of my youth had left me, and the coming of my age came and went with the fickle passing of time. I became drawn and distanced from the ordinary occurrences of life, and eventually, when age took me, I began to lose interest and hope in all I cared about. Years had passed as I tormented against the slow procession of time, and when apathy had finally set in, a most remarkable beacon stepped into my life.

          She was young, quite young, and I fancied myself in the figure of my youth. I do not know how I came to see her, but when I did, I first noted the lustrous black of her hair. It reflected white sunlight as she passed by in the warmth of summer and emitted a fragile ambience during the cool recesses of winter. It must have been months since the very day she came into my existence, and every day when I retired, I reminisced upon the blue shine of her eyes and the white curve of her body.

          During the long hours of night I imagined myself with her. Often we would talk about trivial matters in which young couples would merrily pass time, simply enjoying one another’s presence. Sometimes in our idle banter I would forget my age, and I would say something young people couldn’t understand, and she would look at me, confused. But mostly, we would just talk as I sat alone in the dark, staring at the cold front of an empty fireplace.

          When we grew tired of leisurely chat, we would hold one another and look deeply into the other’s eyes, and I would see the blue shimmer of their essence quiver delicately as they returned my gaze. Sometimes, when I looked deeply enough into her eyes, I would see images of my former self within their depths, and I yearned to tell her of what was to come. But I could never tell her. I could never tell her of what was to come, and on particularly lonely nights, I would begin to cry, and she would embrace me to console my jaded spirit.

          At times, we would kiss. It was a wonderful and beautiful thing, and it was during these moments that I forgot the miseries of my life. Oh, how I imagined those lips and the hands that came with them as they wrapped slowly about my face! And her breath too. It was scented with the sweet smell of lavender that rides in a cerulean wind, and I would hold onto those moments with a fierce longing, carrying them with me after her image had long disappeared.

          Sometimes we would dance and play, be merry and content. On those nights when we danced, she would wear a marvelous dress of purple and black with silver trims that glimmered in the moonlight. We would stand alone in the stone courtyard, grasping the other’s shoulders and hands, swaying in the ethereal touch of the night. And afterward, we would sit and stare into the beautiful, dark horizon. When we arose, I would let her lead me through the courtyard and into the maze of hedges nearby, where we would reminisce and share forgotten memories of our pasts.

          When it rained, the rains followed into my thoughts, and on those days, we would sometimes be happy and at other times be somber. She would invite me to go with her outside, to enjoy what the showers brought, but always I would decline. Instead I sat listlessly before one of the windows and watched the storms as they came and went, and sometimes I would watch her play outside in the wet weather, and I would recall my lost youth. And when she returned from her play, I would smile to tell her nothing was wrong. Though for the most part, we would simply sit together and watch the rains and wait for better days.

          With the coming of summer and spring, we would embark to majestic gardens of limitless colors and rich grasses. And when we arrived, I would pick her a flower and place it behind her ear, and she would give me a gentle kiss to show her affection. I would always remember to guide her to her favorite spot, a pool of striking splendor where water lilies would grope along its bank and willows would cast their strands into the waters beneath. I would remember the smile that fell across her face as I covered her eyes and led her to the spot, and I wished I could forget and share the times when it was all new to her—to be able to relive the beauty of her amazement when I would finally remove my hands from her closed eyes. Often we would skip rocks across the pond, and I would watch the ripples of the water glisten in the dazzling light of the sun. We would laugh and talk as we sat by the shore, and sometimes she would lean into my lap, and I would stroke the perfect strands of her nighted hair, and I would stare into the soft white of her untroubled face.

          There came a time when she married and moved away, and the echoes of laughter trailed in my thoughts. I no longer saw her, and every day, I would wait for her to return, but I knew in my heart that I would never see her again. Her image still came to me, and I would find sad nostalgia in her presence, and it seemed to me that the days became shorter and grew distanced from my being. Her likeness drifted into faded memory, and her face dwindled to but a shadow. After her image would no longer visit me, the whisper of her voice remained in my thoughts, and I would talk to her about older times. And when the last of her vanished beyond remembrance, I would sit in the dark of my home, and I would forget the memories of my past.