Notes in the Cell Phone 6

The snow melting on her eyelashes glittered as fluffy platinum silver flakes flew through the air. It was the end of March, but it seemed that winter would not be unheard in its dying breath. She looked straight ahead with eyes full of a contentness I could only dream of. A faint smile hung on her lips. No worry seemed to reach her, but it was not that she was simple. No. I’m sure her life was as complex, as happy and as sad as anyone else’s. It was just the magic of the moment. Her eyelids dipped quickly in blinking, and returned to a soft look. To a half-open position. The fresh snow, as if they were sentient ornaments from a fairy tale, dotted her raven-black hair in the most perfect of locations. The cacophony of busy traffic around us washed over me, unheard, for my ears were attentive to nothing but the sound of my heavy heartbeat. All of a sudden I found myself afraid. Scared that at any second, the spell would be broken, and we both would be thrust back into the real world, where time did not stay still for beautiful moments. Scared that I would not remember, knowing that I will only have myself to remind me. Scared that I would never be able to return to this place, perhaps the only place where my heart feels this open. So open. So open, it’s like that despite its thickset clockwork, it’s not actually there. She blinked again. “The light’s green!” She said cheerfully. “Oh,” I replied, and with optimism equal to regret, took my first step off of the curb.