And hold on as we spin the calendar forward a few years (as the present is always subjective) and in-jokes have been established, histories have been written and recorded, intimates have been met.

Its a relationship.  And it’s good.

And it’s summer, and ya live on a lake. With a big pretty deck on the water. Rock on. It’s the good life, and though not your best year personally, you’re living well and happy.

The information you still don’t have (now two months away, but coming…) is how earthquakes and heartaches start the same.  Deep down in the dirt, plates shift but you don’t feel it, can’t know it. It takes time and additional digging to truly usurp your world.

And on lieu of the conversations,  the excess petal gets pressed to the floor and the summer gets darker. The sulfur scent of Lake Life in July is simple foreshadowing your too high to notice.

In time. … you understand.  But too late. You were given a gift.  And you squandered it.