Sometimes she sat there next to me far away.

I imagined she could have been talking with the stars

and looking at all the colors she could taste there.

Or far away of a different kind; ancient Samarkand maybe.

I had no idea where she might go. I would always be patient though,

and wait for her return.

We would often speak about her journeys

looking out our front window at a garden of roses,

with thorns we were never afraid of.