Only I raced across the field that night, with the lights shining over the Hudson’s waters, the illuminated monument rising behind me, the statue of a man sitting within, chasing the flag, chasing my friends, running in the dark. The air in my lungs, the stars in the darkness, laughing, falling running again, feeling alive.

Only I watched him die. His black furry body shaking violently in my arms, stroking his long ears with my hands. He wheezed as he fought desperately for air, his lungs burning from their attempt to stay alive. He was so afraid, I told him he’d be okay, as his eyes closed and his body lay still, and I cried into his fur, wishing I could be as happy as he was right at that moment.

Only I rode with him that time, when we raced through the woods, side by side, and he laughed in our speed, my horse beneath me, over rocks and fallen trees, the wind in my hair, the stomp of their hooves, the branches scratching our arms, and pulling up and laughing, and panting, turning, and racing back again.

Only I got kissed in apartment 1125, on his bed, something that had been so often denied, the first kiss which tingled on my lips and traveled up and down my spine into my belly and back again, the thing forbidden, belonging to another, but he gave it to me, the kiss that would always be mine.

Only I climbed the hill the morning, traveling between the blossoms of the apple trees, the long grass reaching to my waist, up to the very top I climbed, just in time to see the sun crest over the tops of the pine trees to the east, to see the pond come ablaze with golden morning color, the fields awaken to a new day.

Only I was out on the lake that morning. Mists hovered just above the water, which was still as death. The sky was a dull grey, the air was cold, my breathe collected in front of me. My paddle hitting the water was a screeching intrusion to this world of silence and softly floating fish.

Only I was looking out of the window of the car, driving on Christmas Eve, passing through the towns where the homes were as big as states, the lawns entire continents. The driveways were lined with lanterns, and in the dim light I saw her look at me, her spotted baby close by her side. Her big ears swiveled, and gracefully she leapt away, a Christmas Eve deer, her own new joy stumbling behind her, her own celebration.

Only I climbed that high, up the branches of the pine, to survey my neighborhood kingdom. The other kids were too scared, they said the branches bowed beneath their weight. But I climbed up, my hands sticky from the sap, and the whole town beneath me, I laughed, in the top of the tree, on the very top of the world.

Only I was there when he fell, the log in his arms crashing down on top of him. The air shrieked out of my mouth as I ran to him, tried to push the wood off his legs, he was bellowing with pain, grabbed my hand. I tried one last time to push the log, and as he moaned in unhappiness, it fell from his body, hitting the ground with a thump, and I looked, and there were tears escaping from his eyes.

Only I danced out on the dock that night with him, to the silence of the wind and the blackness of the waters, dotted lights to shine on out feet, our hearts to beat the tune, our love to give the rhythm. He spun me round and picked me up and put me down and told me that life had never been so wonderful for him.