I knew a girl once. She had blonde hair and hazel eyes much like mine. She dressed in green most of the time while I dressed in brown. She wanted to go travelling. Said it was in her blood. Her name was Red. Don’t how she got that name but that was her name.
The morning she left to go on the road, she gave me one of her sweet kisses. Asked if I would remember her.
Of course, I will, I returned. It would not be fair if I didn’t. She had given me so much.
She gave me courage. She taught me love. She helped me listen. To her and the universe. At night, we sat under the sky and counted the stars. Sometimes we counted an odd number, sometimes an even. Every night was different. She taught me how to read the sky like a book.
Then she threw her backpack on and took her first steps toward the morrow. Down the way a bit, she looked back at me. “Wish me luck,” she said.
“Luck,” I called out to her. Then I whispered, “Luck.”
Soon she was gone off on her adventures and I was alone again.
That was years ago. A distant memory of a girl named Red.