2.14

[I want to return to Catherine, but I don't ever want to carve the time for it, so I won't do it haha]

The open-faced sandwich sat down on his plate with a heavy sigh. Not really. But it looked settled. Passive. Lethargic. Lettuce draped over the tomatoes, which merely napped on the sandwich meat. Everything looked like it had been there for a thousand years. He lost his appetite.

She smiled. She had once been so beautiful, thirty years ago when they met. Her smile once had the power to melt men. She was vibrant. She laughed at things that weren't funny, and she meant it. Plus, she looked like clothes were made for her, if you know what that means. He didn't, really, but it's what he told her to make her feel like a million bucks.
What had happened? Thirty years, probably. Thirty years had happened and there was no going back.

He was older too. He looked like he had been slathered down, wearily resting on the slice of pure american cheese at the very bottom of the stack. Old. Weary. Open-faced.
He wanted a do-over. If he had one, he would have gone back and never walked into the thrift store where they'd met. He would have lived his life alone. He would. He would.

He repeated it to himself, crushed flat against the plate and only half done, the second slice of bread waiting somewhere, feeling sad at having been left out. His insides were only open to the air. He would survive.