#4: on earth

Many seasons passed between Jen and Josephine.

Josephine.

I once thought I breathed her name in every little sigh. Josephine of the Royal Court, a traveler from distant beyond. Every smile, every curve—the slenderness of her fingers, thoughtful beneath her porcelain white chin—every part squirming playfully with exotics that would make any boy intoxicated with a feeling of real life presence.

Yes. For me, not quite child, not quite man, the scent of her perfumes were the nectar of life. Few things are more profound than the sweet, passing glance of a boy's infatuation. Oh, what danger there is in one sweet, passing glance.

At school, we spoke of her as "Elysium."

But here below the heavens, as is the way of many things, our world continues to turn without the energies of unsaid words, unrealized actions. And so, this story ends with Josephine, immediately beyond our reach, as boys smile and laugh, happy with the dreams of fields, Elysian.

—Eurymachus, February 17, 2003