Weathered shutters, a faded aqua-blue,

The shade of his eyes

The way she remembers them.

That night, all those years ago.

As he stood in the entrance of this house

Framed by a tangle of fading jasmine and budding pale pink roses.

Tiny Ballerinas, her grandmother called them.

His shy smile, his skin like a perfect summer-beach.

Sunblonde hair.

Wind-mussed curls

Taut with seasalt.

She will see him again.

Tonight.