Obit.

The absolute silence of happiness. The mute world of joy and all the rainbow glint bubbles popping along the grass. And the dog. Always a dog licking at my face. The streaks of sunlight and her silhouette. Arabesque. One stretched arm and her lips moving but no words and no sound. She blows a kiss and the trees sway from a sudden burst of wind. Silence. Your ice cream scoop falls and the dog jumps on your lap to lick at your shirt. You smile at me. She motions a laugh. Another gust. Everything shakes. Quiet. Lean back and close the eyes and be carried away.

These reels of film, of the summers before, within the dulled brown edges, the black frames, they flicker and fade as if they are some collective dream. You and I and her, we were all there and we dreamed all this. None of this could have been real.

I sip from the glass and it burns but satisfies. I look to my left. She is beautiful. She is still very beautiful. What did I say that made her want to be here? Was it something I did? Was it something I wore? This shirt? Did I hold her hand just right in the press of my index finger and the thumb?

I told her I’m too tall for her. I always tell her that. The movie plays on while I count the freckles on her back. It’s dark in this room and the only light is from the sun of the summers before. We play underneath this light because once we are done, once we are again tired tasting each others’ skin, we will need some dream as we wonder what we’ve done. Again.

The silent movie starts again. The absolute silence of happiness. No one says a word. We think of the past without talking about it. I can kiss her again. You can kiss her again. She can kiss me again. It’s all some collective dream. It’s sleep. It’s quiet.

A gust of wind and the trees shake but no noise is made. She makes a silhouette. She moves. Pirouette.