Maybe it’s the way her hair falls upon her shoulders or her Irish eyes dancing across the twilight on a windy Brooklyn night. Her soft cheeks brace themselves for the bitter cold air but the impact once she’s outside doesn’t hit her the way she thought. Her lovely brown eyes stutter awake while the ground livens upon each of her steps. She sees no one however much I wish I was there to greet her. The smile I wish was for me is reserved for the spectacle of life before her. The breath she inhales shares nothing in common with the air I breathe. It’s been years since I’ve seen her but as much as I long to see her face again, I’m faded into the wind. If her smile lingers for just a second longer than it would otherwise have lingered; if her eyes glance upon the clouds for just a moment in a daydream daze, then who is to say I wasn’t there and who’s to say those moments weren’t a lifetime shared? If only I had the courage to hold her hand as I walked with her after the show had ended. It’s something the wind could never do.