She never betrays her ambiguity. She blends reality with unreality, and although the sensations are real, there’s no telling what else is. Space and time blur, and our dark silhouettes against the moonlit sky provide the only movement on this still night. The moon, would it look the same, if this was a dream? Would the raw, sweet scent of human smell the same? Would the salt of Her neck taste the same? Through heavy breaths and soft moans I try to grab hold of something tangible, but as She thrusts her hips into me, and me into Her, a trembling eruption of love blasts all thought out of my mind like blitzkrieg, and suddenly nothing matters, nothing but this.
I woke up the next morning in my own bed with no memory of how I got there. I never saw Her again. I never even knew Her name. I’ll never know if the events of that night were real or imagined, or to what degree they may have been both, but I’ve realized it doesn’t matter. Love with her was more present and powerful than any in the strict realm of reality.
The last thing I remember was something she said. The only thing she said, really. A kind of poem, as if she only spoke in song:
“Follow the moon as it dives in the sea.
On that distant horizon, I will be.”
Bring me that horizon!
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