she sat across the table. it was that very same café where six years prior he had told her that it was up to her. for once, she did not hesitate, not then, and not now. she knew then that their life together had taken away her solitude and taxed it with loneliness. she knew she had been wrong while doing the right thing. she was not in for the sacrifice, if she believed in anything, it certainly was not sacrifice. she decided that farewell was appropriate.
now he was there across her, his stories had not changed, neither had his charm. he still told the same old stories, and what then seemed like a plea for another chance, just echoed boredom on all the walls of her own internal manifolds. she had heard it all before, nothing ever changed. each new circumstance was just like the previous one. he stayed put in his laments. she wondered what it was that had changed, and if anything at all under this sun ever changes. had she changed so much?
what is this thing that they call love? she asked herself. there in front of her sat a man. there had been a time when she had dreamed of africa and entrepreneurship, of a beach house and a community built around a place to work and live. the architect had planned the site.
from "Manuel's Child" (draft)
