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Of Memories and Fields

I see you turn to glance at me, the faint light of the moon highlighting your already brilliant hair. I realize you are about to speak, and yet I do not need to hear your voice to know the question that you breathe to life in the frigid December air.



“What’s on your mind?” Your eyes dart away from my face, as if you are shy to break the comfortable silence that I have so painstakingly constructed between us.


My own gaze trails to the star-dotted canvas above us, as my chilled fingers absent-mindedly clutch at the grassy carpet underneath. “Life. Love. Existence.” I whisper, my words floating upward in a cloud of fog.


The emerald blades rustle as you flip onto your side, now completely facing me. “I know you better than to think that’s it.” You small hand reaches out then, cool immaterial fingers caressing my already cold cheek.


I refuse to look at you, “Perhaps you just don’t know me as well as you believe you do.”



“And that’s no one’s fault but your own. You’re the one who keeps me out, locks me out from your life, your thoughts. You’re doing it as we speak.” Your words sound exhausted – You are frustrated with me. Your body shimmies closer, until your blonde-crested head rests upon my chest, rising and falling with my every breath. The faux-fur of your winter coat tickles my face, reminding me of times gone by – Of the countless other times we had lain here in this field, staring at the sky. “Now, what’s really on your mind?”



I only allow a single sigh in response, watching as your head is propelled even higher with the expansion of my lungs. A small smile dances across my lips as your form fades into nothingness with the morning light. Only once you are completely gone do I whisper my answer into the empty air. “You.”





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