There I sat. Awaiting her return from the powder room. Thinking.

We did it.
We navigated an emotional minefield.
Watery eyes.
Truth spoken.
Hugs and love.

As Agatha Christie’s Poirot contemplated, “The truth. She can be cruel.”

The truth is, barring a miracle, power-couple denied by The Matrix’s Agent Smith. A tremendous loss for her, I and the many we would have, together, positively impacted.

And yet…

Our coming to understanding the truth brought me internal peace. Felt closer to her than ever before. Did she feel the same way?

Then it happened…

She returned. Took the long way to her seat.

Ever so gently dragging her fingertips from my left shoulder, across my neck, and off the right shoulder. I have been touched. This was no ordinary touch. Did she just brand my soul!? Sure felt like it. It was as intense as I imagine a hot branding iron to be. Now, I am complete.

While driving down yet another lonely highway. I think. In spite of being unlucky in love, my life is filled with love.

And now … know the photograph.