Your voice was exactly what I needed, and I inhaled and smelled you, and I wondered what your life was like when I didn't see you, which is most of the time. I absorbed your smell and your sarcasm, storing up for the winter like a fieldmouse. Your biting laugh left me warmer than the fire in the brick container, dancing. And you and I were dancing.
What do you think, Heather?
Most of this was imagined, I suppose, but I couldn't have invented you completely, because I'm sure your beauty overwhelmed me. And I leaned against the white wood door, trying to impress you, stupidly.
When will I see you again, Heather?
But the point of all this is that I'm sure you have tided me over until the next time when I'll see you. I'll know it's you when the lights burn my eyes from far away from within your small house. Small enough to contain you and fit you perfectly. And your room. And your bed.
Maybe some things were just meant to be unfair.
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