Wind

Wisp, breeze, gale.

Once upon a time, I fell in love.

August 2, 1992. She was around my age, a year older or younger than seventeen. Thirty years ago, on the last night of a midsummer trip to Montreal, I saw her on a ship.

I met the love of my dreams on the open-air deck of a summer dinner cruise.

Dreams, there are two types of dreams: waking dreams, and sleeping dreams. Which one was she, that beautiful stranger? Til now, I had no clue. Yet in my middle age, I cracked the code, and at last made sense of it all: the years of suffering as a writer, the restless nights of yearning.