1 October 2010

Summer Stolen

In my imagination it was all there. Images of what could come and how it might be. My dream.

The candles were purchased, the cushions sewn, the blankets laundered, the rough edges smoothed. Flowers in bloom, trees fruiting, the garden fertile and alive ready to greet us. I had cooked the meals and poured the wine. The music was chosen, soft and melodic; a perfect accompaniment to warm and gentle summer evenings. Evenings that were just a breath away, yet to happen but real and tangible with my anticipation. The sunsets would be glorious in their deep crimsons and purples gradually fading to black when the flicker from the flame of a candle would then illuminate your face. It would get cooler but never enough to chill the ardour.

They were to be nights to remember. A summer of love. Of golden times making golden memories.

But summer never came. You stole it away all for yourself. The meals were never cooked and shared. The wine was never poured. The music never played. The candles never lit and the memories never made. My dreams unfulfilled.

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