bouncing off her skin, her smile, her hair. The air around her shone and waved. Her steps
were light, un-choreographed, but beautiful, expressive. Expressive of her newfound joy,
her newly discovered world. Who could have predicted she would find a light burning
inside of her, warming her thoughts and sending shocks through to her ends, traces of the
light found in each touch, each smile, each laugh. This light had attracted a crowd. No, it
wasn’t the elaborate dancing, or perfect dress, because everyone here screamed
perfection. She was different than the others; a little more free, a little more real.
And she was always real to him.
Always there, always constant. Constant and present in thought, action, word. He
felt her light spreading through him with every electrifying touch. The smallest things
caught his heart mid-beat, stopped his mind mid-thought. Her breath on his neck as she
leaned over to say something, her humming along to the rhythm, her simple smiles when
she saw him looking, watching. Everything she was affected him, affected every part of
him. He knew she was there. He knew her. She was the most real thing in the world to
him.
Yet she was not real to him.
Too good to be true, the phrase he wore out day after day. It felt so surreal, they
felt so surreal. Everyday he woke and felt everything again and again and again, always
new, always throwing him back to the first time they touched, the first time they spoke,
the first time they danced. Each emotion he felt with fresh enthusiasm, but with the
familiar sensation of “too good to be true.” How could she happen? How could they
happen? Was this all a dream that might fade? He tried to remember, make sure he would
never forget, would never forget the moments and the little things they shared. He wanted
it all to be real for forever. He wanted it to be perfectly real for them. He wanted to be
real for her.
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