I keep my eyes closed in an effort to retrieve the dream, but it’s no use. He’s gone.

Heart still pounding, I slide my hand down my pelvis and press into my desire. He’s left me full, wanting more.

I roll to my side and wipe tears on my pillow as memories of pulled pigtails and playground chases flit through me.

Feelings bubble deep inside where I’ve kept them locked tight.

As I wipe another tear, I count the years.


The memory stabs me. Aaron’s faltering smile and gracious acceptance. My disbelief I’d said those words.

A book closed because of Connor.

A book shelved because of her.

Fourteen years.

I manage to place my mind on the bridge, but his warmth is nowhere to be found. Oh, why must dreams die?

I roll to my belly to give myself a good stretch when a chuckle sneaks out of me. The pulled pigtails. He did that a lot, didn’t he?

Memories of youthful imaginings evoke my smile.

Memories of what might have been.


This post is part of a series under the category Prelude To My Novel.

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