May is November. Howling winds and bleak. Then I see THEM. They're walking up; I'm walking down. It is ‘her’ with her daughter, the daughter that should have been mine. Well, at least in name.
There's a flicker of recognition. A pretence of not seeing. From all of us to none of us.
Then they're gone. We've passed.
I loved her longer and more deeply, than any before. Than any since. And any to come. Maybe.
Bereft of her, empty is my existence, lonely my life.
Oft, I dream of love not lost to greet the day with flooded eyes.
Regrets, regrets, regrets.
Why, oh why, did I betray her to just betray myself?
To the counsel of my heart I listened not. Too late, too late. She is gone.
Chestnut hair tumbling onto shoulders bare and freckled. Button nose and big blue eyes.
A poignant memory of a single red rose on Lover's Day.
I love her. Simply and forever.