by Jordan McNeill

I breathe deep,
tasting it –
not wanting to forget
that moment,
that one moment,
of bliss.

My hand in his,
my head on his shoulder,
his breath in my ear.

Our movement was tandem
and the world drifted.
Nothing and no one
but us.
Us and the music.

He becomes who he isn’t:
my dark haired stranger.
He allows me to dream in the night
that which I cannot in the day.
The sun sets –
possibilities arise.

It’s just me and him.
Just us.
And for a few
marvelous, melodious minutes
I am all that matters to him –
and he to me.

Each second is held
close.
As close as we were that night,
as close as I wish we were in day.

Who he was
is not who he is.

But I love him all the same.

---

Jordan McNeil is finishing up her third year as a Professional and Technical Writing major and starting to prepare herself for the “real world.” She’s also been published in the Penguin Review, won the 2013 Robert Hare Writing Award for Fiction and won the 2014 Robert Hare Writing Award for Literary Criticism.