Did I ever mention before we married I danced with a stranger? In my
arms, I pretended she was you.
Afterward, over frothy coffees in a cafe, we laughed and teased, but
didn't reveal our real names.
While she was asleep in the musty hotel room, I stared amazed at
how much her slack mouth and flickering eyelids reminded me of you.
Swathed under dim light, her breasts were exactly as I believed yours must
surely look and feel like. Beneath my palm, her firm yet soft shoulder felt no
different than the way yours felt that day on the beach when I spun you
around and kissed you for the first time.
I kissed the stranger on the forehead and whispered, ‘I love you.’
Her eyes opened. She smiled, then rolled onto her side and rested her
head against my chest.
Our hands sought out the smalls of each other's backs.
If you're wondering why I'm confessing this now, tonight, it's because
the light shining behind you is just right. And the rain hitting the leaves
outdoors is just so. And despite everything, tonight you remind me more than ever of the stranger I once danced with.
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