Maybe

He took me to a faraway place where orange and white Monarch butterflies rose off milkweed in a sunrise of color. Where boats furled their sails on their way back home; where untethered balloons jousted over land and sea like magic carpets, never wanting to land. He was healing rain for me. I could have stood there naked letting the water baptize my soul forever. He was a rider in the storm, pulling me off the ground and whisking me up on his horse.

Was he a fantasy? Or was he real for a short moment, the gods letting me in on some proprietary information that only a special few seem to know.

Was it love? I don’t know. Whatever love is. If love for someone else is making them feel good about themselves and vice versa, then maybe. If love is finding that someone who can take you to that place more than once or even twice or three times, or maybe lots of times, then maybe. If love is just the little things like loving the way someone blinks an eye, or walks, or the pitch of their voice, then maybe. If love is tall and lithe, and turning around to make sure you’re ok, then maybe. If love is knowing that time is turning all the time, and you’d better make sure that you do the right thing by that person, then maybe. If love is remembering a birthday or an anniversary, or just a special moment, then maybe. If love is feeling a breeze on your face and hearing its sound sweeping in your ear, then maybe.

Was he a fantasy? Or was he real for a short moment, the gods letting me in on some proprietary information that only a special few seem to know.