Alice.
Over a cup of coffee she told me about her life over the past 25 years. The insignificant details she imparted faded away–I was too busy watching her exuberant gestures, her vibrant expressions, the untainted hope of her soul.
Joie de vivre.
The only bright spot on my Christmas Eve.
She does something to me. Things I don't want to name or acknowledge.
But they are there.
Maybe in another lifetime we might have been soulmates.
Maybe in another lifetime she might have been able to save me from my darkness.
But not in this one.
The first time I was too early.
The second time she was too late.