Perfect Nightmare

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Our parallel lives seem constantly to be intersecting.

May it always be that way!

I prowled through their house for a long time last night before I finally did what I knew I had to do.

I loved the house the first time I saw it — loved it almost as much as I loved the girl who lived there. And last night it was as perfect as it has ever been.

It was the candlelight, I think.

I remember the house being candlelit the first time I saw it — indeed, I think perhaps it was the candlelight itself that drew me to it.

Like a moth being drawn to a flame?

It’s a cliché, I know, but didn’t someone once say that a cliché is only a cliché because it’s true?

And the candlelight did mesmerize me, almost as much as the girl’s face.

Her face, and her body.

The first time I remember being in the house, the candles were lit. The family was having some kind of a party.

A birthday?

I don’t know.

Now I shall never know.

It doesn’t matter that I shall never know, of course, just as it never mattered that I didn’t know her age.

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