My children are stretching out, running around like awkward four-legged spiders. I’ve taught them everything I know already. They don’t look back very often.

I had a dream the other night – just a dream, honey – about a woman across the room. Absorbed in her friends, still her eyes met mine and she didn’t look suddenly away. A ‘pretty girl,’ they would have called her. The party shifted and she was gone. Then, just next to me again, listening. Odd, and giddy, like youth. A woman who liked me.

It took fifty years for my hope to break. We were going to do such things, my imaginary friends and I. Time passes slowly. It seems so long ago, now. I don’t worry about tomorrow anymore.

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