Happy Idiot

She was outside. Her hair sparkled with the dimming light of day, wearing all cream. Her fingers were long and delicate, reaching for the window in the door. Her hand barely rested on the door before she faded away to nothing. The light had lifted and disappeared with her. It was startlingly dark. The bare wood frame stood solid, deep walnut against the black night. His hand felt the wall between the window and the door.  The walls hadn't been built up yet. There was not much between the foyer and the nothingness outside the room. Searching for her warmth in the wood, he found nothing but cold air. There was no one there but he could feel her close. She had left some of her sun on his skin. The imprint she left lingered in his soul, waiting to meet her again. He sat down with his head by his knees, arms closed around them, hands loosely held onto each other. He said nothing. He just stared at the ground, feeling the emptiness that was always there. His white skin glowed against the dark house. I walked to him and kneeled beside him. I put my hand on his back and laid him down. His hand rested softly on his chest, moving up and down with his shallow breath. I could see his pain and anxiety but he was still. He stared at the ceiling, unaware of me although I was tangible. I put both my hands on his chest and ran my fingers up and down, softly and slowly. His arms fell to his sides, moving out of the way to let me work. His skin felt like fleece, new and beautiful. His freckles were hidden by the sun in his skin. He said, "harder" so I slid my hands behind his back. He lifted up to me letting his arms be limp at his sides. I hugged him tight with both arms not able to reach fully around his broad back. He was wide and strong but felt weak and tired. Softly to his neck I whispered to him, "everything will be okay."