A photo on the wall. She is so pretty. Smiling directly into the camera. Her dress is new. Any time he wants he can recall that photo, and smile at how beautiful she is with her hair nicely done – and that smile. She’s seventeen.
A room full of people. She’s dancing. Everything about her is wild and earthy and golden. Her skirt is green, her shirt is white and her eyes shine. Any time he wants he can see her, in that skirt, that shirt, wild, earthy and golden – and those eyes. She twenty-six.
A kitchen that is home. She’s reading and making pancakes. Her skin is soft. She smells of wheat, butter and strawberry jam. Her hands move like little ballerinas. Any time he wants he can fill his mind with her softness, her smell of wheat, butter and strawberry jam – and those hands. She is forty-one.
One day she will not be. One day he can recall her, see her and fill his mind with her at seventeen, twenty-six and forty-one. Any time.