She is wrapped in tan sheets, her face innocent and calm; she is so content there is no need for a smile. Her hair is strewn wildly on the pillow from previous actions.

It was the morning after. There she laid, anxiously awaiting my return, so she could lift the sheets and capture me under them, next to her, warm and secure.

<center> <font size="1"> Cold shells and cheese conversations leading to leaving the table by way of nodding, all hands placed on the table, a slight push of chairs, then one another?s hands become interlocked, which commences a slow parade to her room, where music would dance among the air and their hearts would combine, souls unifying too, and soppy eyes with sincere smiles would lay together, waiting for all the moments to never end. </font> </center>

?Come back to bed. I miss you.?

<center> <font size="1">A comforter is sprawled out on the driveway. Two bodies lay on the comforter. It was night. Stars were cascading in the black moment making constellations. One body?s arms were back behind their head, coming together to make a more comfortable position. The other body?s arms were snug under their chin, their head tucked snuggly next to the other body?s chest. This was a true moment of time. Not moving when cars or other bodies passed. They were in harmony.</font> </center>

Looking out the window with my back turned, ?I miss you too.? She always went first, which made me sad and questionable.

<center> <font size="1">They purchased lottery tickets and cigarettes. The tickets they took their time on, because tickets involved games. As for the cigarettes, they took their time only because they did not smoke. GPC menthols. He said his dad smoked them. She said okay with a smile. The lottery tickets were a sad affair. But oh the night! A early evening picnic with chilled milk and homemade cookies.</font> </center>

The second person to speak when something like this is said always sounds beaten to the punch.

<center> <font size="1">In a car not moving, a young couple sits watching a train pass. The train was moving slowly, so slow that the couple?s eyes could make out the numerous graffiti, a continuous stream of words shown in color, the headlights of the car shining against the machine moving southwest. No words were spoken, mouths only moved to touch one another, followed by easy smiles and friendly feels of hands. Heads turned, eyes met and the young man mouthed the words, ?It?s you,? to her. The last cart passed, the car was put in drive and the young couple drove off in the night.</font> </center>

Ah, memories never lost, just her. It?s been so long now that I make up future meetings in my head, smiling to the happy ending. Often I take the torn picture out and stare blankly at it, waiting for her to say something, waiting for a movement of remembrance and recognition, to draw the sheets, extend her arms and embrace who is looking at her. Does she ever yearn for what was?