Preamble
If I may read between the lines of this fine invitation to your son’s second birthday party (and congratulations to the young gentleman from an old acquaintance of long ago land)…
I think what you really want (based on the note that was scribbled to me) is someone to love the who that is you. And four years of marriage has left you convinced the man that you married has nothing to give.
Just my thoughts about love, loss, life…and you.
I shouldn’t have written. I shouldn’t confess. I loved someone once but the timing was awkward. I should have worn armor and told myself love was learned behavior.
If…if I surrender to old, dormant instincts and pursue the ghosts of unfathered children…what will I gain? Convince me, I’m willing. I’d love to be loved to be cherished – like fate.
You really should have asked that question first. Because fate is rarely the option hidden behind door number two. And love, all blind and naked and weak and in need, eventually…well, it eventually grows up. And then it ceases to be a miracle anymore.
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Submission Name: Preamble
