Lost Creek Hollow I'm such a romantic,

her name was translucent like the rest of her, vague, fleeting and blurred... no hard edges, a vermeer portrait, fata morgana mirages smudging the horizon. he ducks his head at the compliment and quickly vollies back with, and you are quite pretty, aerasha. he is caught in her wet hair and the curling pattern of it plastered to her milky forehead. a stray raindrop rolls down her nose and he wonders what it would be like to wipe it off. an island up north, he looks back to the hollow. i'd watch the ocean every day and every night. if he closed his eyes he could easily bring up the image of gulls wheeling and bombing through the air, their strident cries... the soft beached bodies of jellyfish drying out in the sun.