October in Enid, Oklahoma. A chilly, dry air passes wistfully through endless fields of grain and corn behind my house, waiting to be harvested as they sway in the half-bright moonlight. The wind makes its way to my single-pane window before continuing on. And there I am. Almost exactly seven years ago, only age 22, sitting at a decaying desk, in front of a decaying bed both purchased from a deceased grandmother. The smell of mothballs pervades this cold, dull room. My escape is a computer screen tuned to southwest.com as I contemplate making an impulse purchase to spend the weekend in San Francisco. Another beer down and the decision is easy. Now my mind shifts from thinking, "will I actually do this?" to "how am I going to make this work."

It's a bumpy flight as we commence the descent into the bay area. The captain tells us to fasten our safety belts. I respond by ignoring him. "Please stow all portable electronics." Ignore. Muse - Bliss blasts in my ears as we pass through another cloud. The flight attendants are furiously scrambling to strap in to their seats as the turbulence worsens, paying absolutely no attention to my earphones. And as if perfectly orchestrated, the Bliss chorus plays as we clear the last cloud. A sea of blinding light flooded with brilliant blue glitters below me. The plane banks to thirty degrees and I get a glimpse of the city by the bay. My heart pounds. Excitement pumps throughout my young body. I am alive.

My pace is brisk as I pass ambling passengers exiting their aircraft. One after another the pedestrian sea seems endless. And there you are. Sitting by yourself at a two-person table, astutely waiting. Waiting for me to arrive. Here I am. Your smile is all I need. Your familiar smell wreaks havoc on my brain as we embrace. Just a second more...but we don't. I always loved your perfect smile. The way your face lit up as you looked at me. One eye slightly larger than the other. Absolute Perfection.

The BART drops us off near the campus and we walk slowly to the building where your meeting will be held. You beckon me to stay and listen, but I kindly refuse. A wave goodbye and I retrace our steps back to Telegraph. Then it hits me. Like an expanding panoramic the street, with all its sights and sounds, its crisp detail and anonymous bustle flood my senses. I am actually here.

I see you in the distance. Your slender form making its way excitedly towards me from down the street. We walk slowly underneath the oak trees, their leaves clapping and cheering for us, a chorus of autumn celebration.  A brief stop at your home on Benvenue and then its off to the park. A narrow path lies before us, lined on either side by massive kites soaring powerfully in the northern skies - a brilliant blue backdrop for us to enjoy. The path widens and before us sits the majestic San Francisco Bay. The sun hangs high in the sky, vibrant flashes of light echo off the water with the mighty city in the distance. The scene is like living an artistically overexposed image. Overstimulated. It is too much to take in. So much peace. So much clarity.

We sit side by side on the half-full tram as it bumbles along the windy rails. The hills of the city crowded with tiny single-story homes are visible in between even increments of plastic window. And then suddenly there is no sound. You can almost hear the sparkle of the late-afternoon sun as it pours through the windows. I glance at you and see a hint of sadness. We edge closer, our shoulders almost touching.

This is the last time I see you. We walk slowly towards the gate. Every part of me screams in defiance, but I know this is the end. We turn towards each other as you look up at me, your eyes saying more than words could ever describe. We embrace - a full, tight embrace, the kind where you can feel each others' hearts beat. I stand there, fist clenched, as I watch you walk away slowly. I see your yellow top and faded jeans, your hair tied in a bun. Mazzy Star echoes through the airport sound systsem. A move script ending.