• I could feel her right behind me. Her legs pressed up against my back like support, but I did not lean in. Her hands swept through my long locks, softly and gently. I still at her touch, relaxing as she plays with my hair. The caress of hands raises a delicious feeling in me. She says some nonsense. I did not listen to all of it. I am not always good at listening. I do remember her saying-
    “I will make you beautiful,” I think about making a comment, but then she adds, “Well, more beautiful then you are.” This leaves me without anything else to say. Instead I revel in how her hands feel warm, like a small sun resting on my shoulders.
    I looked up to see her bright face blocking the sun. I did not look directly into her eyes; that’s another thing I have become bad at. I already know what they look like, though. They are shaped like almonds and are a dark brown color, close to black. Even though the color is dark, her eyes shine, as if there is a light hiding behind them, bursting out.
    She never gives me much. Her touches are rare. Her smiles are fleet. She is often depressed, and I am never the right person to help her feel better. However, I am not one to let things get me down. I will enjoy the little I can have. I will hope she will be happy. Hopefully I will move on. I do not want to move on just yet.