INT. ERIC’S LIVING ROOM – DAY (DREAM)
ERIC flips through a sketch book. Hundreds of images, hand-drawn, deliberately arranged. He flips through the pages and in their sequence they tell a story. A simple story, old as time. Two sets of lips, slightly open. Two pairs of eyes, tightly shut. Two hearts, racing in unison. A moment of passion, of heat, of clarity. The flash to chase the thunder. ERIC smiles.
Our last first kiss.
A woman stirs, gliding her back across his chest with the grace of a kitten in heat. For a second, she almost purrs. Her smile creases her cheeks, breaking the monotony her freckles had fallen into, causing them to dance and swell like a calvacade of fireflies. ERIC has often lost himself within the heat of that smile. He blinks, and the apparition fades. No name, no smile, just the lingering traces of a ghost dancing through his memories, and sketches of a night that didn’t exist. He flips through his script, a little white lie to ease a truth too painful to bear. He cries.