I imagined the photographer in that field. Waiting for me.
I knew it was right to avoid her. I knew we had to pretend like we were ignoring her, like she wasn’t having any effect.
But I pictured her there, waiting. And I knew: She had something to say to me. Something I didn’t want to hear. But something that I would hear eventually, whether I wanted to or not.
Why else do this?
Why else try to pen us in?
She had something to say.
You had something to say.
It felt good to imagine you her waiting. It felt good to imagine how you she felt when the sun set and I wasn’t there. It felt good to imagine your her next photograph in the middle of that field, eventually blowing away.
But the good feeling, like the avoidance, was only temporary.
I knew we were simply postponing the inevitable.
The only difference this time was that at least we could see it coming.