She appeared tonight as she rarely does, rekindling cherished memories of walking nude along the shore running into and out of the waves, the breeze blowing through her long, strawberry blonde hair, drawing goosebumps on her pale freckled skin, hardening her ruby red nipples. We would run and play together for hours before reality would set in and we would part.

Or we would be in her world, nude under piles of quilts in a chaise lounge high on a cliff overlooking the Pacific, holding each other, exchanging the lightest of kisses and the most delicate caresses, lying together happily for hours and hours before reality tore us apart.

These days come ever less frequently now. Reality hits harder. Her health prevents her from being here often or long. Each time is more precious than the last. Each time may be the last.