Imagine getting old together. One day, we looked after each other,
had red borscht with dumplings for dinner, and then a wee moment
on the sofa to settle our stomachs before the evening walk. Maybe
we swapped books or just shared a particularly compelling passage.
Perhaps there was a wedding invitation, but more likely a funeral.
A real genre scene. Imagine that. And there were times I thought
we could actually make it. If only we had never met.
hidden pilcrow 