She ambled down the path to a bench, their bench that looked out over the bay. Quietly she sat, her eyes scanning the park and then the water. In her hand she clutched an envelope. Finally she sighed and with shaking hand opened it. This time Gil had mailed his letter.

She hadn't known what to expect when she found it in her box. Was it a Dear Joan letter? Her heart had cramped at the thought. She knew he was more comfortable with words on a page than spoken ones, so maybe he had important news that he couldn't tell her over the phone. As she studied the envelope, various thoughts and fears had run through her mind. So she decided to go to their bench to read his letter.

Tears pooled in her eyes as she read. She could hear his soft sweet voice in his words. And she could hear his pain too. She had understood that he had been hurt by her leaving. As she stared at the pages, she realized how much.

Surveying the water, she thought about her options. A phone call was quickly dismissed. Neither of them would be able to say over the phone what needed to be said. Two days later, she responded to his letter.

Gil made it home after a long shift, tired but knowing that a walk with Hank was still on his to do list. He checked his mailbox and then tiredly entered his apartment. Hank greeted him at the door. Tossing the mail on the coffee table, he hooked the dog to his leash and they headed out. Consequently it was sometime later when he finally noticed it…an envelope with her handwriting sitting in his stack of mail.

He took a deep breath and sat on the couch before opening it. Finally, he ripped the end and slid the pages out. Her low silky voice sounded in his ears as he read.

My dear, dear Gil,

I got your letter. I am sorry. I knew that you had been hurt by my sudden departure but until now, I hadn't realized how much. Hurting you was the last thing I wanted to happen. I wish you would have told me when we talked, but I understand that you could not…it isn't you.

I sat by the bay on our bench as I read your letter. As I looked out over the water, I thought of our first time there, all of those years ago. I wished that we could go back; knowing what was to come I would have never let you leave me then. So many years lost as we tried to figure things out…

I needed to come here, to put the past to rest. But as I've haunted some of the old places, I have come to realize that they have moved on without me. It is as if all that happened to me has been forgotten. As I read and reread your letter, I realize more than ever that I need to let it go. There are no answers for me here.

My answers lie elsewhere. As I sat on that bench, my mind wandered through so many memories, memories of you…and me.

Referring once again to John Donne…

WONDER by my troth, what thou and I
Did, till we loved ? were we not wean'd till then ?
But suck'd on country pleasures, childishly ?
Or snorted we in the Seven Sleepers' den ?
'Twas so ; but this, all pleasures fancies be ;
If ever any beauty I did see,
Which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee.

And now good-morrow to our waking souls,
Which watch not one another out of fear ;
For love all love of other sights controls,
And makes one little room an everywhere.
Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone ;
Let maps to other, worlds on worlds have shown ;
Let us possess one world ; each hath one, and is one.

My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears,
And true plain hearts do in the faces rest ;
Where can we find two better hemispheres
Without sharp north, without declining west ?
Whatever dies, was not mix'd equally ;
If our two loves be one, or thou and I
Love so alike that none can slacken, none can die.

I meant what I said when I left. I love you; I always will. And you are my only home. Our two loves are one. And so, if you will have me, I am coming home. It will take me a few days to wrap things up here. I will warn you, this experience has changed me in some ways, but my love for you has only grown.

Unless you tell me no, I should be back next Saturday. I can't wait to see you.

All of my love,

Sara

Silent tears trickled down his face as he finished. Quickly he reached for his phone and hit the speed dial. The call went to voice mail. He swallowed and then left his message.

"Hey, it's me." He paused. "Yes." Another pause. "Hank and I will be waiting for you on Saturday."

He closed his phone, sighed and then headed for his bed. He needed to rest. Tomorrow would be a busy day. He had much to do before she came home.

Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Okay, you asked for it…another installment on the story. I hope it satisfies. And now, I think it is complete.

BTW, the poem is John Donne's The Good-Morroow.