Mourning for a friend

I met a friend a few months ago. She was beautiful, high strung, wild of spirit, impatient with incompetence and loved freedom. It was love at first sight. You know... one of those meetings where you know what the other is thinking. Our first meeting was stunted a bit by her manicure. She longed to run, to feel freedom, to explore and so did I. We were kept from our deep bonding by her nails. They were too long for this kind of freedom so we both felt the strain and walked sedately and both tried to pretend that this was all we wanted. Like all memorable love affairs, I plotted how and when I would see her again. I thought maybe she should move near me so we could spend time together daily. I checked into housing and food costs for her. I dreamed, planned and hoped. Then my mom called. "Oh, your dad says to tell you your horse died today. He has thought of it as yours since you came here last. Horses are sensitive to their feed and he thinks it had some moldy hay."

"Oh, that's too bad," I replied casually. I didn't yell or scream or even cry to show my disapointment in a relationship ended just as it had begun. But my heart did. I knew her, even in those small moments. She represented to me freedom, the longing to run, to fly, to break out. Well, she is gone now and I guess it is just as well as I would probably sacrifice other relationships for her company if I could. But, she took with her a bit of a dream I carried ... a little hope that a tamed domestic creature could at times break free and run with the wind.