If I had three lives, I’d marry you in two. The other? Perhaps that life over there. At the local café, sitting alone, writing a memoir, a novel of my own No children A room with a view, books upon books, and time enough to read. Friends I could laugh with, a man now and then, a weekend to remember the warmth of skin again In that life, I’d be lighter. In that life, I’d have time. I’d practise yoga, live on leaves and wine or mocktails, perhaps, with lemon and lime. Art-house films, farmers’ markets, soft swaying skirts and jewellery blue. A different life, a different view. I’d go to the French coast, where the wind blows cold, wear weekend man's flannel shirt, soft, weathered and old. I’d breathe in the salt, the sea on my skin, his sweat and aftershave, still lingering within. And I’d love what remained, that scent, that trace of him perhaps a little more than I ever liked him. At sunrise, I’d walk the beach. I’d gather perfect spirals, small kingdoms from the sea. I’d study all the pockmarks the water leaves in sand, watching every wave erase what came before. And I’d wonder sometimes... in that other life... if I would ever ever find you.
