Wind makes a strange partner. I think back to the kites I flew over at Long’s Field back in the days when we rode our bikes and you teased me about being a girl. It’s easy to feel those days were an omen.
Better times sit in the memory the way hope stirs us to go on.
You’ve left the house. Without you the rooms feel like a museum catching the archived reaction I measured when you said you never meant to hurt me. But you did.
Outside the wind blows clean the way we used to be. The days of flowers and trust are gone. You found the lining of your pockets void of coins, and the woman you loved once a thousand days ago still unchanged. Who makes someone different anyway? Maybe time can change my circumstances, but who I am will not be altered. Maybe you never loved me. I know you won’t be alone forever. I don’t know how I’ll react when I see you walk in a room with someone else.
I hear your mother is ill. I never understood why you called her before we sat down to dinner and I had to wait. You made me give up the nights I sang at the bar we used to go to before we settled down. Correction, before I settled down. She didn’t like me, and so you gave up on us.
The part I don’t fully comprehend is why I miss you, Sam.
Kids fight, adult discuss, remember how you said that the night you left? All that’s in my head is kids find ways to work it out, but adults leave. I seem to see you and I dancing when I close my eyes, and that’s the difference between you and me. You see no when I hear yes.
If I’m sounding frustrated when you read this letter you’re right, I am. I can even imagine what you’re thinking as you read this. I don’t know who sends letters anymore, maybe a text is faster, but the love letter has a soul. Except you don’t love me. Maybe you never did. I wonder if a shadow is easier to hold for a man like you rather than a real girl. And see I know you’ll become a serial lover, a kiss here and a promise there…before long you’ll end up alone and that might be the way you want it. Wind has one advantage over you, it comes back eventually.
I’ll be alone for my choice is to have loved and lost. Maybe I’ll get a dog or something, or a cat. I know what I’ll read someday: Samuel M. Keller died alone. He grew up along the shore of Lake Michigan, and married his childhood sweetheart, Patricia Lane. They divorced one long summer years ago, and their love never met his expectations. He had various lady friends after, but Patty knew him best. The scholar had many accolades, but to those who knew him, his favorite trophy was the one that sits on his office shelf which declared the Little League third baseman the most improved player. It was the only thing he valued.
I know how much that award meant to you when we were kids, and how little you value me. Believe me when I say I never wished to hurt you, but love hurts sometimes.
Windy days give the house a sound I can’t get out of my head. It sounds like your footsteps. Fool that I am, I imagine you’re coming back to me. When I go to the door and open it, all I catch is invisible air and your laughter over my tragedy.
Written for maximum impact.