The way I see it, she was hoping I’d forgive her. “That’s alright. I forgive you. I understand.” Why not, I thought. Yet, the direct blame should be on her. On the weekend I call her every hour. I leave a messages on her cell phone all the time. It’s an enormous battlefield. I am aware of over-stretching. Curdled greens and anaerobic seaweed are lingering beyond our mounds of broken promises.
running the whole length of the horizon...