The Weight Of Dreams
Remember when I convinced you to drive down the dirt roads to that tiny fruit winery in The Everglades? We got drunk on avocado wine and didn't make it back to our studio until the middle of the night.
When we got back together after a devastating time apart, I begged you to take me back to that shitty winery because I remembered so much of us in that place. This time I voted on a better wine, and we skipped the tour to sit in the abandoned airline hangar on a weathered bench. We were untouchable as the sun seeped into our skin, complimenting the warmth from our love, familiarity and euphoria. This was our second chance, and we were not going to let one dusty breath pass us by.
I just want to be there. I want to reach through this void screen and fall into your sweaty arms as the sun casts pink and purple hues on the sugar cane fields. I want to taste that disgusting homemade wine again.
I want to tell that girl to hold on, even tighter.
But she did. She knew. She felt the oily coconut wine against her throat, your chin hairs tickling the back of her head, your fingers consuming hers. She saw your film crew filming your little boy with chestnut curls running in the sand by the picnic tables and heard his giggle that was as infectious as her laugh. Remnants of chocolate ice cream smeared his face as he looked back at her with eyes that matched yours. She felt the weight of a rose gold band on her left ring finger. She ignored a call from her agency as she got lost in a moment that film would never be enough to capture.
She lived an entire lifetime in a moment, as the sun set on her dreams.
And sometimes, that has to be enough.