The three of them, they sit together in the mornings and talk or listen with mugs in their grasps and morning tinting their hair. Flowers on the table; because she wakes up first, and then they wake up at the same time. She greets them always with a smile and the younger man takes the seat beside him. Always.
Afterwards, they go their separate ways, one by one by one, until the flowers are left alone on the table and nobody is breathing in any of the sunstruck dust motes.
Who wouldn't be the one you love?
Who wouldn't stand inside your love?
Today, staring sightlessly at the door that they've both long passed through, he's not sure which one of them he needs.