Sing to me

July night

      It was a dark July night, the kind that follows a long sunset. The girl sat on a fishing dock, dipping her feet into the cold water of the lake. The wind tousled her hair, and the birds' songs made her feel anything but alone.       She regretted how quickly she had grown up, how swiftly she had flown from her father's nest into adulthood. She wanted to cry, torn between two men.       She loved Markus. She loved his jet-black hair, amber eyes, and strong arms that held her on the coldest nights of the year. His laughter always filled her soul with warmth, and the rhythm of his heart calmed her. She was his wife.       She liked Tom. No, that wasn't it. She might have loved Tom. She might have loved his wide smile that made her heart race, his deep blue eyes and his voice that always mesmerized her. She might have loved his wheat-colored hair, long legs, and broad chest on which she had once fallen asleep. But she wasn't his wife.       Tom stormed into her life like a hurricane, turning her world upside down. He showed her what it meant to live freely, without fear of judgment, and without hiding from the world behind the walls of a concrete box.       Tom was like a breath of fresh air that she desperately needed, while Markus was like the comforting scent of home you return to after a long day.       She had met Markus too early, and Tom - she had met him too late.       Somewhere far away, beyond the woods, in Marcus's house, her friends were having fun, drinking, and completely oblivious to the absence of the girl.       Raising her head to the sky, she turned to the stars. She asked them to relieve her anguish. She wanted to love and she loved. But she didn't want to love two people at once. It was too much for her heart.       The wooden bridge creaked, alerting the girl that someone had stepped on it. Quiet footsteps slowly approached.       "It's beautiful here," Tom said, sitting down next to the girl.       "I love Marcus," she whispered softly, never taking her eyes off the night sky.       "I know."       "We met too late, Tom."       On this dark July night, a question was asked, to which the girl had no answer. This question, spoken by the much-needed Tom, was absorbed by the cool night, drowned in the forest lake, and silenced by the singing of nocturnal birds.       "But is it ever too late?"