My First Love

It was autumn. It was memory. The pale moon was high overhead, casting an opalescent glow upon the stretch of land before us. It was all too inviting. So inviting, that we trusted our clumsy feet to take us to a destination unknown as they trampled the leaves beneath them. The cool stillness of the night was breathtaking; quite literally, for the air would steal the warmth of our breath in a puff of fog as we panted through the trees, who towered above us, menacingly. I was in love with them, with the fog of my breath. I was in love with the fall.
Nevertheless, I was detached from it.
It was as if I was looking upon the scene from another point of view. I can still see him, the way I did then, just as clearly as I could see the night. I can still see the gravity of his countenance. That part of me, that memory, will never grow old. I remember how we trudged. Words were not exchanged, not yet. Silence was never a threat to us. It was a virtue. We relished in it, as we walked, our troubled, weary minds grateful of reprieve. Our skin was meant for moonlight. It was soft, and pale. We were like mirror images of one another - similar, but quite backwards. He was tall, I was small. He had dark eyes, mine were light. We were boring. I could feel our destination approaching. So did he. We walked more wistfully, more eagerly, with every stride. Soon we were running - running after each other, like a single dog, chasing after its tale. I started laughing. I felt like I was swimming through the trees, the air, the thicket. Shadows and trunks flew past me, the whole earth bobbed up and down in my clumsy view. He was smiling, ahead of me. He glanced over his shoulder and slowed down a bit to allow me to catch up with him. I slowed to a walk. We panted. The fog from our lips vanished into the night. And the stillness of our feet signaled our destination. We had but one intention in coming here. To get away from ourselves. To get away from the earth. This spot in the woods was