YOU LIGHT UP THE SKY
Sometimes I sit and think of you, my periodic visitor; my temporary blinding light.
The anticipation of your visit is reminiscent of lighting the blue touch paper of a firework, then moving back to wait, wondering if anything will happen.
As the bell rings, the flame has caught. A whoosh inside me as I open the door and see your eyes dancing with mine from under your thick brown fringe.
I put the kettle on. We talk, and all around me I see stars. Your nearness evokes a spinning sensation in my head, like a Catherine wheel, whirring out of control.
Those micro-seconds when you hold me, the world lights up around me in a blast of starlight; momentarily beautiful.
But then you leave.
Darkness. Chilling air and a sense of loss.
The moment is over. It was never mine to begin with.
This flash story is taken from my collection A Knowing Look and Other Stories.