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  • Hopeful, quietly sitting me.
    Anonymous among the increasingly intoxicated crowd.
    My chair, positioned safely close to where you would sit.
    I wait.

    The lovers in the window nook share creme brule.
    She feeds him from her spoon.
    He laughs as the creme hits his chin by mistake.
    I cringe and look away.

    Facing the door I see you approaching.
    Your walk is unmistakable.
    Exhaling the last drag of your Marlboro Light,
    you pull open the door to the Spotted Horse.
    I quickly look away so you don't realize I was watching.

    The familiar dark jeans that are just tight enough.
    The turquoise and brown plaid top that pull a little
    on the button across your chest since you've been getting fitter.

    "What are you having?"
    "Just a Fosters please, thanks"

    It was if it were any other day.
    But we both knew it wasn't.
    The air was heavier.
    As my lungs expanded with its density,
    it pushed my heart down into my stomach.
    I take a huge sip of lager.

    We did well. For a while.
    We laughed quizzically at how we ever got to this place.
    How on earth did people like us, good people, get here?!

    The second he touched the side of my face, my hair
    it was over. We caved.
    We melted like ice cream in August.
    Useless will power.

    We went for a walk by the river.
    The sky, cobalt and silver.
    The purple clouds perfectly reflected on the water.
    It was low tide. The river was perfectly still.

    I focused on your hands clasped around my waist
    and tried to memorize that moment
    so I could revisit it later.

    Later was the one thing we didn't have.
    Our inevitable clock had run out
    and it was so, so palatable.

    I was crawling reluctantly to the finish line
    wishing it further away
    so we could go on just a little bit longer.

    But there it was.
    And here I was.
    Crossing it alone.
    Where my husband was waiting.












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