Her sundress hovered around her legs, dancing in a light breeze with the discarded newspaper's obituary and coupon sections. Her strong, defined, calves flashed in snapshots under the swell of the dresses waving motion, showing glimpses of purpose in her stride.
She met him right there in the middle of bridge. It was high above the water where she watched two seagulls share the tips of the bridges piles, where she wasn’t sure if she was in Boston or Cambridge, where she kissed him on the cheek.
Her eyes met the black water of the Charles, as he spoke, her hands the rough railing that separated the real world from an imaginary one. The blue floral patterns rose up her shoulder, along with a shiver, as he held her arm and made broken record promises for the second, third, fourth time.
That moment, an onlooker would see her softening and dare to dream whether she was coming or if she going?