I will be adventurous tonight. I will dare to think those things I mustn’t. I will dare to imagine that this very night, you will walk through that door there, and you will look at me. You will look at me straight in the eyes, and part your lips the way you do, and you will say you are sorry. I will feel that there is a war you’re waging, and that I am brave. I am brave not because I defend myself, but because I accept the wounds with stoic calm. I know I must be wounded for you to be fine. I am brave, not because I stand up and leave when I must, but because I let you scare me to death, and hold your hand. It will be a delicious misery as I reject my own dignity take you into my arms, and whisper my welcome back. We will smile, and we will cry, and I will be ashamed, but I will be fine, the glory of love.
I smile, momentarily, now, as I look at the door. I laugh at my mood, at my wishful thinking.
Of course, of course not.