I had a dream last night. Now I don't believe dreams mean anything beyond
that they are reflective of deep feelings and subconscious thoughts. This
dream fits somewhere in that lexicon

I was taken back to a time when all things were possible. Love and beauty
merged easily into a seamless cloud of pleasure and anxiety.

Waverly was not particularly beautiful in the conventional sense. She was
about 15 lbs overweight and she had a fairly unremarkable face. However,
and here is where I run out of proper descriptive words, she had an
irridescent beauty that made her glow as if lighted from the inside with a
bright shining candle.

She was my one true love, and our youth made that love transcendent. The
summer of 1962 was unlike any before or since. I thought of nothing for 3
months other than to be with her and to reflect on our moments together.

The way her hair spilled out onto her pillow, the smell of White Shoulders
perfume (which still makes me ache when I smell it), her devotion to me,
and her smooth alabaster skin combined in a way that left it's own
permanent place in my soul.

The dream was pretty simple as dreams go. I had travelled across the miles
but not the years. She was there with me in a very real and personal way.
We were not younger, but it didn't matter. The dream has refused to give
up it's hold on me. It has been 41 years since I have seen her. I am
married to a wonderful and loving woman. I wouldn't even know what to say
if I actually met Waverly now, but the dream will always linger, like a
beautiful spring day, the smell of roses and the sound of birds singing.
Come to think of it, those things pale in comparison to The Dream.

Marcus A. Pryor
For a new age of reason