(Written for Alastair’s Photo Fiction)
“It’s been seven years but that vile woman STILL won’t leave your mind. Get out of my house!”, Erica screamed furiously, spit fountains flying around unabashedly.
Two strong forces occupied the room. She, the erupting volcano. I, the calm sea.
I didn’t want to lie to myself again.
I walked, then jogged and finally ended up running – excited like an eager teenager on his first date.
Our favourite lane. It felt like home. Every leaf and stone seemed familiar. This bend was where we first met, that tree we shared our first kiss under, and those steps led to the church where we…
I felt her presence before she called out. Her perfume made me go weak in the knees, even after all these years. She still looked exactly like the photograph in my wallet.
Lauren – my wife. If only she would have me back.