December
If there’s one image of Mark that haunts me, it’s this: he’s walking through campus, amid the chaos of academia, seemingly oblivious to the world around him. He strolls, actually. And that requires confidence, faith, and clarity.
I envied that.
His world was his own creation. Mine was too, until I fell in love with him. And then my world became a mere collection of the places we went to together: the coffee shop off campus, Royal Street, the banks of the Mississippi River, Café Du Monde. If he wasn’t with me, I wasn’t alive. I could not drift into foreign lands beyond the pages of our love story.
Does Mark love me? I think so, at least he did at first, when we were happy, when the future was ours. And if he loved me then, he could love me again.
They say time heals all wounds, but I beg to differ.
It seems time only deepens the scars.