Dear somebody,
Today I find myself missing you. I think that today I began to lose hope and today love lost luster. I am very afraid, afraid that when you find me, we will be withered and old. Our skin folds of experience, our eyes lined with practice, our hands mapped with deeds and our hearts patches of grief. I am afraid we will never feel youths kiss under a yellow sun, with sand between our toes and sweetness in our taste.
I am so very afraid, afraid time will not be enough, it will be swift with spite, taking away what we’ve found. We will never know together, our grandchild’s smile, she, all sunny gums as our son looks on, not our daughters walk, as she chooses her mate. We will not hold hands, sneak kisses in the loo or cry when our dog, Russ, dies. Will we get a chance? A chance to kiss awkwardly on the steps while momma peers through the window?
When will be able to break up and make up? Somebody? Hurry please. I am waiting.