She pours my tea, as so many times before.
One sugar, a little milk, just the way I like it.
I pour his tea, as so many times before.
One sugar, a little milk, just the way he likes it.
I watch her.
Greying hair. Lines around her eyes. An ageing, worn smile.
He watches me.
A touch of grey at his temples. Strong jaw. As handsome as the day we met.
If only she had had something other than me. Something of her own. A child maybe.
His crisply ironed collar. His shiny, polished shoes. How would he manage without me.
I can’t remember when it all became so stifling. So routine and mundane.
I’ve been so lucky to have the comfort and security of our marriage.
Maybe if she’d been more passionate I wouldn’t have needed anyone else.
I knew there would never be anybody else for me. He was always the one.
She sits opposite me and sips her tea.
He sits opposite me and sips his tea.
How can I tell the woman I once loved, who depends on me, that I am leaving her.
How can I tell my love, my life, that I only have a short time to live.
Copyright © lola barron