Sunday Breakfast
I glance across the kitchen table at Maria. At the same moment she happens to look up from her paper. Our eyes meet for half a second.
And for that moment, five years of marriage and three of courting are gone – we are strangers again, furtively making eye contact from across the room, looking away, embarassed to be caught looking. It only lasts a moment. We realize what we’ve done, and we share a little laugh at this strange regression. I’ve never loved her more than right now.
I feel a slight draft. That window will need fixing before winter.
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