She loved the tranquility of the lake,
and how the weeping willows stooped
over the lilies. She would sit and
watch them all day, sketchbook open.
Every day I saw her as I walked down
the dusty road to the town.

I never knew her name, and she never
knew mine, for I wasn't bold enough to
introduce myself. As I walked to town I could
see her. Sometimes I heard her sing. Her voice
was almost as beautiful as herself. Once I
ducked behind a tree to listen.

But since last August, she wasn't there
when I passed the lake. I searched, but no one
in the town even knew of her. I accepted that
she had probably moved on. She was far
too fragile and fair to die, or so I told myself.
Her voice still haunted me.

Sometimes, I think I see her, sitting as she
used to. She always disappeared within a
second. My deceptive eyes lied to me, but I
believed them every time. Hope. Hope drove
me to imagine her, and every time I saw the truth
I was disheartened.

Today, she looked at me. Her eyes were blue;
deep blue, as blue as the paintings of the ocean.
She was as pretty as I'd remembered her, but her
beaming smile was slightly sinister. I blinked, but
she didn't dematerialise. The disturbing grin
didn't fade as she dived into the murky water.