Remember when we stayed at that place in Jamaica? The one with the billowing white curtains all around the outside restaurant? And they served us our coffee each day out of silver pots while we sat in comfortable beach chairs. The blue mountain blackness pouring into delicate white cups. And we sipped, quietly as the waves came and went, toying with the morning sand.
I remember the day I married you. The wind at my back and my daughter at my side. There were no dry eyes because all the guests knew the union was right.
And it was. But now? Now the days are fierce and long. Even a vacation can't seem to deliver us back to one another. We worry about the wrong things. We walk separate paths. We prioritize so differently.
Don't complain about their rooms. They will be empty and tidy soon enough. Don't hold us to those standards of yours that no one can live up to. It used to feel like a challenge, but now? It's plain exhausting. And I have enough of that. I'd rather you be the oxygen, not the smoke.
I've waited for you to embrace all the joy. Now I have to skip down the road with the girls ahead of you. No worries. I won't leave you behind. I'm just not sitting back anymore. It's you who will have to catch up.
And do-- catch up. I miss you.