The auburn beauty opened her mouth and said this:
"I had never met a perfect man, but by god, he came close. It was as if his eyes turned everything to black and white. His hair smelled of sweet indian tobacco and it was always coiled around my fingers. He would tell me my arms were like wings that beat against his weak heart, and I always took this for granted. I was too pretentious, too judgemental to appreciate his honesty and truths. When we made love, it was always full of hotel lamps and coffee. He was distant, but terribly giving in an almost desperate way. Or perhaps beautifully desperate and distant like we all are, humans that is."
She took a drag of her cigarette and discarded the ashes as if they were a gift in the bottom of the glass tray.
"Now I'm just perfectly convinced he was the soul of some huge bird, or that I invented him altogether. People like him don't really exist. I have the proof. The proof is that I haven't met another like him. I could build a tower out of all the things I might have said, but I was always the humblest of pair of breasts and thinner inner thighs this side of the mississipi, so I can understand why things ended."
She again pulled on her cigarette with painted red lips that were broken with creases, creases that whispered her age with every movement.
"The point here is that he didn't even exist when he existed. I mean, none of us who search daily do really exist. We're everywhere all at once, stretched thin and taught over planes and planes of reality and of fantasy. But he, he was something else. He was conjured, and I'll never know him. I'll just know what he was at the time."
"Aren't we all just who we were when we knew each other?"
She seemed slightly taken aback, and then with a curious simper, she replied,
"Yes. I suppose we all are."
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