Eventually, Henry VIII Thought “Hey, Maybe It’s Me”

That “dropped” call was thrown, more than likely. Phones were expensive, and anger was easy to manufacture. Anger always seemed to cost more, in the long run.

The sunlight streaming around the visor was blinding. My choice was to see the sun and nothing else, or see the visor and nothing else. What does it mean if you can see your blind spot?

I imagined her crying, wishing she had never met me. I imagined her distraught, wishing that everything between us could be better. I imagined her aflame, desperately wishing murder was legal for a day. I imagined her desire, wishing we were in each other’s arms, in bed, right now. None of these seemed quite right. I knew I frustrated her. I was an umbrella in sideways rain.

Love was a marathon, not a sprint, and I had not trained for it. No time or energy. Fortunately, I had natural endurance, and it was more about going the distance than about reaching the finish line. In fact, if it was meant to last, there would be no finish line. Then again, if it was meant to be, I could go forever.

I sat in my car, listening to the nothing. As always, the otherworldly ringing in my ears was my internal soundtrack. I closed my eyes and tried to relax, but how could I? When you’re in love, it’s exciting like a roller coaster, like an active shooter, like a hummingbird landing on the window sill. And I definitely loved that phone.

I’m thankful I don’t beep when I take a step back. The constant tone would sound like a flatline.


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