"i think it's better to be crazy and free."
she's sitting on the balcony of my apartment. her blue dress is dark against the edge of the sky and against the paleness of her thigh, against the glittering outline of the eiffel tower just outside my window. the weather is getting colder now, late autumn fading into early winter, and the wind dances through her choppy, curled hair.
i want her to close the door, for her to come inside. i want to say something to her, to say something back, but the words aren't forming in my mouth, are lodged somewhere between my tongue and my throat.
the light from my bedroom is soft gold against the edges of her face as she slides from the rail, brushing the velvet dress off with her hands as she stands. her cream-coloured pumps, red-soled and hinting at a glamorous life, seem almost to float above the ground. perhaps she is an angel, otherworldly in the glow of an old city tinged with the impressions of a thousand old souls.
"don't you agree?"
i don't know what to tell her. i don't know what to say. her mouth seems to move in slow motion, painted flawlessly in deep crimson. the light is softer than starlight against her face, softer than a satin apparition. she is beautiful, so beautiful, with a face that could be the wind in the sails of a thousand ships. perhaps she is not real—how could i know if she was real?—but she is still perfect, she is untouchable, she is pure.
there is simply nothing for me to say.
she leaves soon after, ebbing away into the ether like a cosmic eidolon, the ghost of starshine; she knows there is no answer waiting for her, no precious words set to tumble like rubies from my mouth. there is no reason for her to stay. and i am left standing in my bedroom, french doors wide open and letting in the cold, deep blue curtains nothing more than a memory of someone i could never forget.
i am standing in my bedroom, wishing i could have told her in her blue velvet dress: "yes."