I loved a girl once. 

I’ve moved from that home and created another since my time with her. I don’t even have the same bed I shared with her yet, some days I wake feeling as if nothing ever changed. I think she will be there when I turn over and the sun will still be peeking through the window, highlighting her red hair. 

I could feel a change in my bones when I was with her; my love for her was deeply rooted and at times painful. Happily, I let that love eat away at me until the vessel that is my body lay in ruins. 

I created a world for us in my own head, one that words failed to describe. I saw our entire lives together, from the beginning till the end of our days. In my world for us, I saw the large farmhouse we would come to live in, tucked away in a valley along the Appalachians. I foresaw our love manifest in a child, followed by others. I could see the metal basin on the porch we would bathe our babes in during the warm days of summer. I saw every time we held hands, every time we kissed and every time we lay naked upon the grass. 

The life I created for us remains concealed in my mind, but her once vivid existence has turned into a mere silhouette now. When I meet someone new I try to match their outlines but my imaginary future is stuck with an opening only for her. 

Perhaps my thoughts of her will occur less frequently and maybe I’ll find a new lover but, until then I’ll continue to hold onto my memories of our time together and the memories of things that never happened and now never will.