I remember those summer days where we believed we had reasons to stay. Ten thousand dreams of leapfrogging rocks in the bayou; lounging pastries morning, noon and night; and naked hearts sharing beds. Amateur dreams you said they would say, but no matter, you said. We needn't listen. I couldn't tell you then that I believed them because I loved you more.
When I finally returned to visit, you congratulated my journey, shook its hand and patted it on the back. Idle polite chatter, you remarked, how wonderful. You had stayed, completed and worked, never leaving 1985. I stared at the human photograph wondering what happened to that little girl. The one I should have believed and all ten thousand dreams because you loved me more.
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