Though imagination and she are not good friends,
Lately she let herself carried away by some pleasant thoughts.
There are things she likes to imagine:
How would he look like in a few years?
Would his blond hair darken with time?
Would the tiny wrinkles around his eyes still smile at her gently?
Would his angelic face sadden with lived experiences?
Would his soft lips still talk to her with golden and delicate words?
Would his agile fingers still have the touch of silk?
What would time do to him and his soul?
Then she wishes she would never need to imagine him that much.
Because he will still be there in a few years in flesh and blood
There would be no mystery to such future.
She could then tell for sure.
With her eyes closed
That he stays the same
And like a very good wine
He tastes exquisite
Over time.
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