Nostalgia
Lit Up — May’s Prompt: Nostalgia
She watches the raindrops land, flowing rivulets along the windowpane, and wonders why they don’t flow straight. She thinks of her husband and kids. Maybe too busy to appreciate this.
Men. It’s better without them. Sometimes. And some space … to write … about the poem she read last night.
Coffee … eventually. Those two words stir her mind as she’s making herself a cup. She tries to remember his face and eyes, and wonders if he’s the poet. He used to speak in short, unfinished sentences. Now?
She places the coffee next to the computer. One needs to push a lot of buttons just to read a poem. She begins with the first line, slowly while sipping her coffee. Too much sugar.
She puts down the cup. Eyes drift from the cup to the windowpane. How much sugar did I … yet, it’s still raining.
And those days beyond the rain are fading in. The days they went to school together. In simple uniforms, holding hands. And the simple sunrise of their childhood, plays, again and again, every morning. They were so young, they hadn’t wanted to grow up. He wasn’t wearing glasses. The school was simple, yet she flunked it. Life moved on in different classes.
Last time they held hand was on the eve of her wedding day. He was surprised but didn’t ask why. Why not? He had changed. She had changed. Those few hours together made them young again. Though her heart beat louder and faster. She wonders if he feels the same right now.
She looks at the poem and smiles.
