haunted attics

And finally there was a girl who liked taking me to explore abandoned buildings and haunted attics. We never even kissed but in public she would take my hand and we'd walk like one of those couples, with a spring in our steps, bouncing into each other the whole time.

That also only lasted a summer, but in many ways it was the most intimate I ever got with anyone. It was so quiet and perfect, these empty places. She really came alive in these places everyone else had forgotten. And though she was showing them to me it was really just for her. I don't think I was even remotely necessary.

There was an evening in an old sanitarium where we sat and took pictures and shared a cigarette and drinks from a flask I'd brought with me, and suddenly there was knocking and whispering and I'd swear there was a ghost there. She saw it too. It was frightening and worrying and exciting. And then it was gone and we took our bikes and went home.

We parted amicably at the end of the summer. She told me if she didn't have to move across the country maybe something could have happened between us. Of all the girls I've dated she's the only one I keep in contact with. We've both had other relationships since then. The moment's passed but we're still good friends.

Except that never happened. None of it. There was no haunted attic and she wasn't the one there because there was no her--it was someone else entirely, someone just as unattainable. It was a beautiful evening, but after it was like nothing ever happened. It's been a year now and every time I see her I think of that, with the last light of the day shining in through the window and leaving those little columns of light and dust.

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