Young Adult / Memories

She could no longer recall his image to her mind, not in the detailed and accurate way she used to. She might try to remember but it was as if she airbrushed him, smoothing over any line, freckle, bump or imperfection. She was left with a silhouette, a head of black curls, huge brown eyes, the white part startlingly pure and large, curved, kissable lips.
It was intangible, it was not perfect, it was not reality. But it was enough. The memory of him, though blurred, managed to serve its purpose: To remind her what she waiting for.
Her memory of his physical presence might have been hazy but she could recall events that had occurred in his presence as clear as if they’d happened yesterday.
If she ever doubted him, she knew she could go back to those memories. She would once again understand the way they felt about each other. Other people may have misinterpreted his actions, not being party to the somewhat telepathic connection that existed between them, but she understood the subtext he placed behind every word.
From time to time she would seem to forget one memory or another, only to remember it in the most delightful moment some time later. There was so much to remember, after all. Not all of the memories connected with him were happy but all were of equal importance.
And, she thought, most of them were happy. Whether good or bad, the relationship was real. Something that , she knew, was rarely experienced by anyone her age.

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