Daily missive for Thursday the 16th of November.

“Isn’t it a perfect day?”

She said.

“It is a lovely day

But not perfect.” I replied.

“Which is a matter of perception

Is it the right time,

In the right place

With the right person

By your side?”

It wasn’t her fault

It was an innocent enough thing to say

Passing the time

A pleasantry

To ease the flow of a transaction

Over the counter

Service with a smile.

I remember other days

Closer to perfection

Before the fall

The lamentation

The burn of grief

Rising into the back of my throat.

A reflexive memory of happier

Less painful times

Without heartburn

When the world revolved

At a different pace.

The glow of a friendly morning

As the sun rose with a smile

The shadow of guilt

Always falling short

Of souring innocence.

The illusion of happiness

More of a real thing

The smell of salt in the air

As the sea rolled out

Into the distance

As flat as a millpond

In a village green

On a Sunday afternoon.

Quaffing a pint at a table

Outside the Christopher Wren

Overlooking a sleepy Thames,

The Windsor Bridge

Reaching out to Eton

Schoolboys dressed as penguins.

Real Ducks standing in a row

Geese catching pieces of bread

In mid-air

Mute Swans

Standing almost as tall

As the children,

Milling around

As excited as they ever had been.

The two of us

Nestled together

In a warm bed

Your head on my shoulder

Breathing you in

Kissing the crown

Of your head softly

As you slept soundly

The perfect end

To a perfect day.

Perhaps I should have said nothing

Other than to agree

But then

I guess

That wouldn’t have been me.