“Do you remember?” the voice said. Words as warm as summer mist that cradled my ears. Words warm with the bounty of a promise that was not yet made a lie.

“Do you remember?”

But eyes like mine could not open to see who spoke. Eyes like mine…

Something warm moved against my skin, the touch of silk kissed by the sun. It moved a span of eons in mere inches, a phantom longing held tightly in its wake.

“Do you remember?”

I wanted to. More than anything, I wanted to remember. I wanted to reach out and grab the memory with hands that never learned to let go. I wanted to remember everything…

I could feel the ghost of time that breathed a momentary lapse of spring. That thin veil of winter gliding low beneath where heat was still an echo.

“Do you remember?” it said. It’s voice was painted in the tones of honey. Landscapes of a hope made whole before where morning breaks its cadence.

I wanted to see those lands. Those dense and sprawling plains where I could wander in the safety of its music. Wrapped within the blanket of its kindness in the space before where evening stripped me bare.

“Do you remember?” it asked like broken cobwebs in the window pane.

“Do you remember?”

But lips like mine were never meant to speak. Lips like mine…

“No,” it said in such a hollow tone. “I don’t suppose you would.”