Losing Lori

I saw you the other day, Lori.

Or at least, I thought I did. She looked like you from behind, anyway. Long brown hair, slim frame, legs any model would die for...why wasn't it you?

Part of me hoped it was. I don't know what I would have done if it had been you that turned around, you that smiled at me, you that flipped your hair over your shoulder. I just know that it wasn't you and that hurts, but at the same time, I'm grateful.

I wanted to run to the girl and hold her, close my eyes and kiss her temple just like I used to do to you when you'd finally fallen asleep, squeeze her hand and just for a moment, pretend I had you again, before the cops came and escorted me away.

But I didn't do any of that.

I turned around and walked away, past the ice cream shop, down the street, and back up into my flat. She didn't look anything like you - her eyes were too close together, her lips were too thin - and maybe it was a good thing. If it had been you, I'm sure you would have seen me and ran.

If you were out on the street, and I saw you, you could expect a nice black eye, Lori. Because you deserve it. I know it sounds completely wrong, coming from me, someone who claims to love you more than life itself, but it's the truth. You need sense knocked into you, you always have. I was good enough and you know it.

Or I did, at least.