Afternoon. Laziness. Out the window, the wind sways the trees. I think of you. Wonder if you even know I’m married. How would you know? Do you sense it? Will I ever see you again? Eight years, ten, and then nothing.
Sunlight on the leaves, if you were there, in my backyard, by the fence, waiting. It cannot happen. I let go. I let her have you. I did not fight. I must not have loved you as much as I claimed to.
Life is not what we think it will be. It breaks you and rebuilds you into someone you no longer life, someone passionless and uneventful.