by Belinda Roddie
I wondered where she went, who she was with, and if he was blond like me. I wondered if she still smelled like peppermint and bitter salt from the sea.
I wondered if he worked odd jobs, or if he made enough money for three. I knew she wanted a kid one day, but she didn't want one with me.
I wondered if they went on walks together, and if during them, they held hands. Perhaps they went to museums together, or ate junk from hot dog stands.
I wondered if he was a poet, or into philosophy. They could read Descartes and Camus together, or Plato's cave allegory.
They could break from the metaphorical shackles together, and kiss under Kentucky moons. Or maybe they could travel the world whenever, braving summer monsoons.
They could start their own farm in Wyoming, or be cowboys in Tennessee. They could start a dog rescue in San Diego, or learn jazz in North Orleans.
Maybe they could change the world together, if they both agreed to try. And he'd tell her he'd have faith in her work, with that damn twinkle in his eye.
Did he have a gap in his front teeth like me? Or a laugh that could make glass break? Did he have his fair share of success and regret and felt all of his life was at stake?
Did he know how to dance, like she did, and sashay with her in any room? Or did he live with two left feet like I did, never quite knowing how to move?
All I do is drink and speculate about where she is and why. And all the words that I could say to her just shrivel up and die.
I was never good with odes or rhymes. I spent too much on drugs in my youth. In my fifth wheel RV, she'd be honest with me, but I never could tell her the truth.
But whomever she's with, maybe he's more open and can wear his heart on his sleeve. I would never demand she'd return to me, because moving on is my dream.
If she's with a man who's blond like me, may his locks be as bright as the sun. And if they fall in love and start a family, then I pray that he's really the one.
This week's prompt was provided by Bethany Kilzer.