a woman,

rolls up to my right

at a red light.

I think to myself:

I could love her.

I could love this woman.

No problem.

It would be easy.

Over coffee,

or dinner and wine—

it could happen.

It would happen.

She would tell me things—

personal things

she’s never told anyone.

I would listen.

I would sympathize—


I would be perfect

for her.

She would say:

This is crazy, I know, but

it feels like

I’ve known you forever.

It feels like

you’re my best friend.

I know, I know, I know.

I would say,

holding her hand in mine,

I feel the same.

All of this was

meant to be.


Light turns green.

Her Mazda is faster

than my Toyota.

I follow her up a hill.

She veers left as

I press on, driving forward—


Green light.

Green light.

Green light.

Yellow light.

I slow down.

Red light.

I stop

and look to my right.


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