Sunday, August 30, 2009


It was the perfect week. It started off with a fight to clear the air. From there we progressed to hanging out with his family and lazily reading books on the dock. I went tubing and didn't drown as I secretly expected. I went fishing and didn't catch a single fish much to my squeamish heart's relief. Cuddling up with him at night I felt warm and happy - right before I turned into an ice ball because of the freakish temperature drop, but that's another story.

But at the end of this lovely week unfortunately and unwillingly I thought: I am not the only one who ever fished and tubed and read and relaxed and ate and laughed with them. I wasn't the first. I am not the only.

People have pasts. They move on. Stop thinking about that so much. I know. I know. S is right, I should remember I'm the present. This is the present. But it nags at me once in a blue moon. At the back of my mind is that little bleating thought.

If I can compare him to that tall dark and handsome hero of my dreams, that unseen unknown prince charming of my imagination, how much more immediate a comparison with a real being. A woman who lived and breathed. Still lives and breathes. Real memories powerful with the gloss of time.

It doesn't matter. Not, apparently, to him. In fact, I'm not entirely certain it matters to me either. But just can't help but wonder, can you?

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