I have just left the lab, glowing with the feeling of success.  I love what I do and applying that skill to a new medium, a new set of problems, and making it WORK fills me up. 

The sky is grey overhead, and the wind — it’s not whipping, but it’s not gentle either.  A stiff breeze pushing the chill of a newly started fall season with it. 

I walk across the parking lot, boots with 3-inch heels and that distinctive click that I haven’t heard in a few years.  Jeans, striped sweater, pea coat, gloves, scarf.  I open the door, slide into the leather seat.  A summer with the trainer has left me feeling thin, fit, capable.  I light a cigarette, turn on the song, drive back to my office.

I hopelessly, helplessly, wonder why…

My eyes fill don’t fill up with tears any more, I’ve heard it enough to stop them from moving beyond heat.  I circle the loop to the office, driving the speed limit to stretch out the time.


Five years ago, I think.  I could pull out the folder and check, but I won’t.  Had we decided to stop trying at that point?  Or were we still cycling?  I remember the sadness, the hollow melancholy, not searing pain.  A dull ache wishing for what seemed impossible.

In some ways, I miss her, that girl that I was.  Time does that — whitewash over the ugly bits, leaving the good parts to shine all that much more brightly.



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