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“We’re older. Perhaps wiser?” His words are tentative, and I stare up at him, my eyes squinting under the late afternoon sun.
“What is it you want from me?” I ask, shirking my fear and leading us toward some form of the truth that we could hopefully stomach.
“Another chance to be the man you asked me to be. The one I was too afraid to be.” I close my eyes at the sound of his words, the lick of his accent, the memory of hearing him share his secrets with me as we remained one.
“It isn’t just me anymore,” I remind him, opening my eyes again, prepared to move in some direction forward. Safely. Time makes us wiser…doesn’t it?
He nods, wordless for a moment. And then he speaks and it’s in a more serious tone than I’m used to from him.
“I know.”
It’s hard to leave a man who hasn’t done anything wrong.
But not harder than leaving a man who hardly did a thing right.
