November 18, 2013 § 8 Comments
He had enough love for both of us. Sufficient passion for Crème Eggs and me. But I couldn’t stay. Being loved too much hurt my bones. Made me ache. Made my skin itch. And the chocolate would have made me fat.
So he found other women who looked like me. Seduced by his wit, they stopped his heart hurting for a while. He brought them to me for my approval. Sometimes I told him what he wanted to hear.
But he was always a sailor and couldn’t stay in a place that stood still. He grew a beard and sea legs. The yacht was small and seaworthy and he would sail to America. It was January and he had no radio.
A fisherman found the boat. Drifting in the Azores: sails flapping and shredded. And he was gone.
He wasn’t the suicidal sort.
I hope he remembered the Crème Eggs.