There was more said in the silence than in any dialogue.

Within the Ipod of my mind, there plays a song by Jim Croce.

"Don't you know I had a dream last night;
You were here with me......"

And, if you've been a regular reader, you know that some of my best stories come with holidays and other milestones.

There was this girl.

Well, that's an understatement.  She was a force of nature.  She probably still is.

Somewhere down her particular road, she had stumbled on the secret to life that worked for her, and I believe it kept her warm and happy and filled with the idea that there was always, ALWAYS, adventure in the world.  And you were always invited to the banquet. 

All you had to do is step up.

And you know something?  That was a very attractive thing for a boy who never really took a chance.

But there was an intensity of the flame that she followed and basked in that I couldn't match; and even though I wanted to, REALLY wanted to.......I was afraid that the flame that sustained and supported and fueled her life would simply burn me to ashes.

But I'm an addict.  You know that.  And an addict can learn not to indulge, ignore the siren call of the all the things enjoyed but destructive to himself.....but the siren song is strong.  And lovely.  And desired.

I really wanted to trail along.  I wanted to be there with her.  So very much.

But it became clear to me that while she LIKED me, she LOVED the adventure, and eventually I would become passe', and I would be alone, as she walked into the sun.  The secret to life that she had discovered was hers alone, and even if I could share it, it would only be temporary; she seemed to make it clear that what we had was a sprint, and not a marathon.

So, it was not a question of missing her; it was a question as to WHEN to begin missing her.

I simply stopped seeing her.  Stopped calling.  Stopped leaving little notes where she could find them.  Stopped going to the places she would go.

And I escaped the fire.

But I was colder for it.

Of course, time has passed.  The sun has waxed and waned and the leaves have changed and fallen and the snow flies and melts and the rivers rise and fall and life moves forward as memory moves backward.

And the little red haired girl is missed.