Just a Sunday Lunch

     Kyle watched as his girlfriend of four years gorged herself on a half-pound cheeseburger and french fries.
     This is the girl I love, he thought.  Then he looked to the table of four younger, thinner women across the restaurant.  He wondered if, at twenty-eight, he was too old to talk to them.
     Not that he would do it, with Rebecca present.
     Not that he would do it, at all.
     The women wore college-labeled clothing, which led Kyle to presume they were, at most, nine years younger than he.  All were local.  One was branded with the mark of Cabrini, another with that of Eastern.  Two bore the marks of Villanova.  They were happy and care-free, chatting and laughing between bites of Flippin’ Jack’s famous burgers.
     That was all that Kyle wanted, to be happy and care-free.  What more could one ask for?

Letting Go is the Hardest Thing

It was impossible to know, then, how much I would come to love her (now).
Sometimes I close my eyes and all I see is her face.
Those captivating eyes, that radiant smile.
And her laugh!
God I miss that laugh.
If that laugh could be the last thing I hear before I die, well…
I might realize something is off.