There is something about you that I may never be able to express in these mere words. But someday, when we are sitting beside a window, on a calm evening, in most beautiful silence, with you leaning back on my chest, inside my arms. A breeze shall carry a song which has every word I always wanted to say etched in it and touch you gently. And I shall hug you more tightly while you hear every single word, and I shall see every spell of mine turning you into beautiful magic.
A twenty-five-cent word sprang unbidden into my mind: “noctilucent.” The word described the glow of a cat’s eyes at night, but it also seemed right for the woman in the photograph. She was a moonbeam turned flesh, pale with white-blond hair and wide-set light green eyes. Beautiful was not an appropriate word; she looked otherworldly. She looked impossible.