Soft red hair complimented the sunlight shimmering across her subtle frame with a fragrance like sweet roses. And I remember the time we were kicked out of as cinema. We ran away laughing on a hot summers night and ate cold ice-cream on the lonely midnight shore.
The oceans rolled back and forth. The waves broke and reformed. The stars above were countless, like a jewelled blanket hiding us in the night.
We made love in the starlight, pushing shapes into the soft beach sand.
She would make my coffee in the mornings and complain, jokingly, about how I had no sugar or milk in it. I laughed at her and would chide her for the amount of tea she drank.
And we would both laugh about the tequila the night before. We would both swear we would never drink that poison again. We would both laugh at this, knowing it was untrue.
The bitter black coffee in my cup would stare up at me. Lapping back and forth as I sipped it, bringing my consciousness out of the soft morning shine and into the waking world.
And then we would make love, penetrated by the shy morning sunlight that pierced the gaps in our curtains. Our forms being one, breaking and reforming.
A black crow looked down on me that night. The moonlight did not glimmer in silver but whispered of darkness.
I remember meeting her parents. The distance and awkwardness as I saw older, critical people sitting across from us. Questions and shouting broke out, but they did not reform. I suddenly saw what she–what we–would be like in the future. It was dark and unloving with little starlight and no jokes. They were all shouting and she was crying, and so we left.
The car drove and drove. The streetlamps became stars shooting past us as the road was the fate of those upon it. And we were the road.
We stopped on a cliff overlooking the ocean. We stopped and, in silence, looked at the stars dancing on the waves of the midnight ocean.
They were rolling back and forth, breaking and reforming.
And we made a tearful love in that car. Her salty tears mingling with my mouth, as I held her quivering form against the cold leather seat and the moonlight played across her pale breasts.
The sun rose, as those days all did. It rolled back and forth, breaking on the shores of memory and reforming against the silhouette of daily life.
And then the silhouette became a shadow.
The shadow became a darkness. What did we have to look forward to? But I could not let her go or let someone else take her. No. But I did come up with a plan to save her from the barrenness of inevitability.
I still miss her, though.
Sometimes I wish I had never killed her.