My heart brimmed with nothing but tentative anticipation

as I see her:

her silky blue dress

            that wraps smoothly on her waist,

her soft pale skin

that glides gently across my skin,

her hazel brown eyes

            that dig out my soul if I stare.

when I look at her

              I feel at home

               like the caterpillars in my stomach are wiggling.

               like the larvae in my stomach are hatching.

               like the butterflies in my stomach are fluttering.

I wish I could draw her in an oil painting

and had it displayed next to Mona Lisa in the Louvre

so people can see her as how I do.

I wish I could write a romance novel

and had it published in the New Yorker

so people can be jealous of our memories.

but

her beauty and our memories can’t be drawn or recorded on a piece of paper

it’s simply unique to us.

still, we tried to keep our memories in two separate diaries.

one for her.

one for me.

I kept mine in the second drawer of my desk.

she claimed to keep hers in her heart.

one day,

she turned into a waterfall.

her silky blue dress melted into the water.

her hazel brown eyes formed crystalline rocks.

her soft skin dissolved the pages of our diary.

she tripped and fell

fell

                                                fell

                                                            fell.

sometimes I still see traces of her blue dress in the corner of my eyes

sometimes I still sense her brown eyes staring at me

sometimes I still feel her skin across mine

I tried to tear up the pages in my diary leaving our memories in pieces

I tried to burn my diary leaving our memories as ashes.

maybe it’s my memories and

not ours.

my friends say don’t be afraid the pain will ease over time.

but I wonder

is fear fearless?

is pain painless?

is time timeless?