That Day


I dreamt of her
pale and dark
warm and crying
my lips touched her skin
a thousand times.
“That day will come.”

I imagined a night,
alone in the dark,
the smell of new rain,
drops falling, splashing.
Alone together.
“That day will come.”

I see a time,
a distant place,
perfect landscape,
safe and content,
embraced and entwined.
“That day will come.”

A day will come,
decades passed by,
hair whitened, skin creased,
lives twined and twinned.
Completed.
“Those days were perfect.”

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About Cary

I write, more nonfiction than fiction lately, and that's mainly because I started a podcast about the history and culture of Brazil. Reading for that is dominating my reading time too - as you might have guessed. I'm an American expat who lives in southern Brazil. Aside from history, reading and podcasting, I enjoy cooking, hiking and improving my Portuguese. I teach English for a living. View all posts by Cary

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