The room was silent, the air still. Sweat dampened her clothes and hair leaving them clinging to glistening skin. Standing by the lone window, arms held tightly across her stomach, tension rolled off her in waves which were almost visible.
Not for the first time I wondered how a figment of my imagination, a wisp of a dream, could seem so real I could almost reach out and touch her.
There were times when I thought I knew her better than I did myself, others I was left thinking she was a stranger, separate. Thinking of her blazing blue eyes, they often seemed endless wells, which if I fell into them, I would lose myself forever.
I tossed myself onto the bed, pointedly keeping my eyes on the yellowing paint on the ceiling.