9:17

At nine-seventeen p.m, my whole world stopped. Distincely I remember this because through tear-bleared eyes, I saw the numbers lit in green - 9:17 - on the face of my microwave next to the door. Next to that same door through which you exited so hastily, so heartlessly, so unexpectedly with not even a kiss good-bye. . . though I guess that would have made it even worse. I’d rather think of our last kiss as we lay at night in bed when I believed you cared, when unbridled passion and bliss still ruled my heart. Years pass, and I’ve not found another man to take the place of you. Once in a great while, late at night, I go into my kitchen, perhaps to brew some tea, and on the microwave those numbers from the day you left assault my eyes, lit in green - 9:17 - be cursed!