The Faintest Breath
The magic of a moment is never sensed at the time.
The fleeting kiss on the cheek was indeed no more than a moment, and moments have no beginning, no end and, if the truth were known, no duration. She shivered as she recalled it, as if someone had walked over her grave. Memories of things that did not exist are dreams of dreams and shadows of shadows.
But in that golden moment, she had fallen in love with a ghost. And ghosts are easier to conjure in and out of existence. Magicians keep the wolf from the door with such slight sleights of the hand. Their audiences are ghosts and their tricks sweet nothings.
That brings the moment full circle to the kiss and the mere wordless breath upon her ear. But she becomes a dream of Sleeping Beauty…
(published ‘Whispers From The Dark’ 1995)
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