As a Young Man I Knew Her

We did not get along, she would look over the rim of her glasses, sneer under a frozen smile. I decided to hate her always. Then I dreamed of making love to her, for days, my mind followed her around; a sick dog seeking her diagnosis. I still disliked her, but thought I saw her beneath both our masks. Then she was gone, or I left the place where she was. The parting shook no mountains, was noted by none, except a memory of her, that was a pocket in an old suit. Years later, we attended the same conference. I knew her instantly, her anger had burned out, leaving her not so beautiful, yet not so ugly. If she recognized me she hid it well, nor did she acknowledge our invisible past. We strayed away from being anything other than strangers. That night I dreamt of her again. We held each other close, wept, salty tears mingling, shuddering, as if we had come through the same nightmare. We opened deeper layers than nakedness, were amazed to discover we had all along been within each other, knowing also that whatever future lay before us both we would for evermore cease clawing our way out of this union.