Paul thought back to his first time making love.
It was in a sleeping bag while camping.
Two sleeping bags zipped together.
The romance of the stars above.
He remembered how relaxed they were in the afterglow.
How they made up new constellations.
The backstories for those star groupings.
How a sliver of moon pierced the sky.
He hated that the romance did not last long.
The two of them. Together.
Though they were good together.
Kind. Considerate. Tender.
Their goals were in different directions.
Hers to the flat city. His to the mountainous wilderness.
Neither of them wanted to give up their dreams.
Or for the other to give up their dream.
So they parted well. With good wishes.
But they lost touch in less than a year.
Paul thought about her brown eyes.
Her straight black hair. Her soft hand in his.
He remembered that he was more afraid than she.
It was his first time. But not hers.
He remembered she was so plainly human.
Not much pretend about her.
Like the mountain forests he loved to wander.
Like the revealing books she wrote.
copyright © 2022 Kenneth P. Gurney
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