There is one night that I remember in particular. It’s the night when you and I laid on the field next to the old town library and looked up at the star-strewn sky. Do you remember the night? I can remember the way the full moon lit your face in the darkness. It was almost like you were up on a stage, the spotlight following your every move, and I the only one in the audience. The seasons had just turned and there was a light breeze in the air. You wanted to go to the field to see if any flowers had grown yet. I told you that it was too early for any flowers to have grown, but we went anyway. I grabbed your hand as we walked along the shortcut through the woods and you clenched my hand with a fearful strength.
We never went home that night and when the sun came up over the old town library the next morning, we awakened to a feeling of warmth in the air. The light breeze had stopped blowing and the branches had stopped rustling. . .