Here and there, scattered on the ground, were tiny sapphires like frozen tears, which thawed in one’s hand to release the perfume of roses on a summ...r night. And as for roses, there were entire gardens of wild blooms whose petals fell with the sound of children’s laughter, an errant breeze produced such a joyous din that the man wept at the prospect of the family they could raise together. And where his tears struck the ground, new blossoms sprang up, thirsty for his love. Through the air spun. She didn't call it a date, but what else would you call it? You know, as I look back on that time now, with the benefit of so much hindsight I can see other ways that I could've handled it better. And it literally makes me tremble at the memory. I'm not sure why. And it arouses me again all these years later. I don't remember the details of what she wore or how she prepared for the date. Maybe I was still at work and didn't observe that. But I do remember how the evening went in other ways. I. More

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