Lolita sees him in the colour of the leaves as they transition from green to brown, in the reflection of the sky the pools of melting snow show her, the freckle that hides on the skin between her thumb and forefinger, the same shade of brown as his hair. Lolita tastes him in the morning on her mouth, feels his fingers tugging the ends of her hair, holds him close every time she inhales, exhales, inhales, exhales. And then suddenly he is tangible again in the body of a stranger. (for the Misfortunes of Lolita One Shot contest)