43 & the countdown

Last week — week 42 — marked a countdown of sorts. Instead of counting up, in weeks, I think I have started counting down. Today is the end of the 43rd week; and only 9 weeks remain until…one year.

I don’t want it.

I went to St. Pete again. This time going over, I was in the passenger’s seat. We crossed the Skyway and headed for the first left exit because I asked to stop by the store first. At this exit, we ended up waiting on account of the red light. This gave me a chance to look around and remember that I had once met Love in this exact area. It was the only area I really knew to meet Him and it was easily accessible to me; and I figured it was safely away from anything/one that I/We would know (as if St. Pete is even that big. Everyone seems to know everything.).

I parked my car and got into His, about a year ago, likely in July. He had had a long day, and then continued His evening with Uber, and then took a pause from it to engage with me. I had not ever come over the bridge to meet Him. I have never wanted to be seen in St. Pete — not because of Him, but me.

We had a magnificent night — one that I have yet to chronicle — which I carry with me not only in memory, but around my neck in a blue heart that I purchased after His death. It is my reminder of a girl’s — this girl’s — greatest dream: sands and ocean waves and a private spot and love made under the moon after midnight. He was so beautiful that night.

Waiting at that traffic light, I felt it again…

I looked to the left, and it was blue…and I broke my neck to see if it was it…and maybe if it was anyone familiar.

It certainly was a Cruze.

I stared. I shook my head.

Unbelievable? Not anymore.

I was with old lover and I wondered if he saw what I saw and if he knew what I know. He looked at me. I noticed, even in my trance. He’s never asked though I’m still waiting to tell.

Love said He would love me no matter where I was and no matter who I was with.

I believed Him then. I believe Him now.

Thank you, Love.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.