I thought of you while I was making mother’s dinner tonight. You made an omelette the first afternoon I was at your house.
How did I end up there? Why on earth were you the slightest bit interested in me? Was that calculated – pulling your overalls halfway down?
My god you were perfect. Gazing at your back while you cooked and I couldn’t get caught. Shy glimpses at your chest as you sat beside me and ate. I don’t like omelettes, didn’t then, don’t now but I ate…
Sex on legs, I’ve said that often enough before. I still wonder what you could have seen in me…and how I could have let you go.
Re-group…more than 30 years later. Our perfects long since oozed out of us. Bashed about by disappointments and wounded by other ‘loves’, it couldn’t work. It was so nice to see you though Timo, your weak at the knees smile, that laugh.
I’d like to tell you this much but aren’t some thoughts best kept in our own heads?