He tucked his hand neatly in the space between my thighs and rested his palm above my knee. A simple gesture with such a complicated expectation. I shifted my weight and leaned against him on the seat. A plate of dismembered breakfast items sat before us, cut and shared minutes before. The check laid folded and propped. It was getting late.
Was it better to be the wife or the mistress?
The days are drifting. Black skies enfolded neatly over the golden horizons. Fall. Days when I am driving late to work I am reminded of the same feeling when T and I lived together and I walked to school. The trees along the park glowing hot and shaking in the afternoon breeze. Nights full of whiskey and arguments. Driving fast into the night. Leaving.
Distance. Dissolution. Discovery.
This year has been good to me. Despite.
But I am ready for love.
.
.
