A man and woman are dining in a restaurant. They’re obviously in love, and things are becoming serious in their relationship.
A violinist is playing romantic music. The lights in the restaurant are dimmed down low.
The man fidgets nervously and says, “Honey, I’m.. ah, I’m not sure how to say this.”
The woman smiles, holds back some tears, and responds, “Just say it.”
The man picks up a bottle from the table and says, “Wor-Chester-Shire.”
“There was some consolation, though. When he would go into the other room, to the kitchen, or to the bathroom, she would hold onto my hand and she would say, ‘I wish it were just you and me here.’
And I remember thinking, ‘You could make that happen.’
The way she said it was as though she wasn’t involved in the decision process. Like, ‘I’d love to, but the boys in corporate…'”
An anniversary. Of sorts. Not a happy one. A cautionary tale, perhaps.
Once, uncharacteristically, I followed my heart instead of my head. In the words of William Rivers Pitt, I threw the parachute out of the plane and jumped after it. The impact was predictable, I guess, inevitable and devastating.
Even so, I doubt I’ll ever get to feel again what I felt during that one perfect, pre-impact moment.
“At the end of the day you should feel so lucky that someone can make you feel that way.” – Trace Cohen
“Tell your stories, you own them. If people wanted you to write nicely about them they would have treated you better.” – Anne Lamott