She's wearing grey.
That's the first thing that crosses my mind as she hoists herself up onto the ledge outside and pulls out a book, wearing an airy grey dress and grey boots with frayed laces. All grey. No white. But no black.

She's happy.
That's the first thing that crosses my mind as I sit next to her and gently touch her arm, altering her to my presence. Her arm, pale and scarless, holding a silver bracelet, not a number or a judgement. She looks up at me and smiles. A warm, genuine, beautiful smile.

She remembers me.
That's the first thing that crosses my mind as her eyes meet mine. She has eyes like kaleidoscopes. A tear appears and slowly falls down her cheek. "I missed you," she whispers. "I missed you too," I nod, trying to suppress the tears threatening to escape my own eyes. Boys don't cry, I scold myself, but the tears come anyway.

She's here.
That's the first thing that crosses my mind as she kisses me. Slowly, passionately, savoring every second, breathing it all in. "You're here. You're real. You're here," she repeats softly. "Yes. I'm here. I'm real. I'm here," I whisper, stroking her soft brown hair. And in the silent euphoria, I know she knows that I'll always be here.