Table for Two

Dusky bottle nigh empty save the dregs sits between us on a table lightly sprinkled with the leavings of a meal neither of us much wanted to eat.

I confess to you my sins, my culpability, my responsibility. You laugh, not unkindly, in that way that always made me think of June. You too in turn admit your faults and that you thought the reason for our drifting apart all those years ago was you. I laugh with you while my mind rejects outright such a patently preposterous proposition.

Nothing ever grew or decayed between us which was not fated to do exactly that.

All I want in this moment is to hold you. Tuck you beneath the front of my sweater press your body to mine as if to bar forever dread separation.

The night ends, cordially, as is proper for two who were once one. And in the street I let you go, again. No, thats a lie. I never really let you go. Not once from the moment I saw you so long ago.

And I never will.