He wanted to never see her again but wanted to see her and only her for the rest of his life but he wanted things changed and to remain. He knew what he wanted, couldn’t decide what he didn’t want from her. Tomorrow. Lights out, went to his desk, and looked at the picture barely seen in darkness. Starbucks. Smiling, looking over the books he’d picked for her. Set in a frame, black and white scaled, there they were blissfully, her caption, looming underneath:
It won’t be long, before all we become
Photographs;
Returned to ink and afterthoughts
In the rising steam of coffee cups.
He missed and loved her. Pullupcoollinens. She was pushy, overbearing. Stretched. Sacrifice new happiness? Massagetemples. The spark had disappeared once. Yawnrollover. Discovered his ultimatum as he loomed on the edge of deep sleep: he could live with her, or erase these past seven years from his biography.