Visitor On A Summer Evening

You were standing at the sink, doing the dishes, and you were beautiful. The setting sun was casting a dusky yellow light on your face, and you were humming to yourself.

I drove 300 miles to come see you, and I didn't even tell you I was coming. I didn't even know if you wanted to see me.

I took a step or two forward, reached out, almost touched you, but stopped. You were oblivious, I moved too softly and the floor was too well built for creaking. I ached to say something, but- I left you, and you had recovered, and who was I to wreck that?

I turned sharply away, and you spun around in shock. I ran from the room, through the hallway, and burst out the front door. As I jumped into my car and drove off, I could see your pale, frightened face staring after me out the screen door.

I hope this puts to rest all your fears about that man who snuck up on you in your kitchen that one evening, darling. He was no predator, or ghost. Just someone who had made a mistake. I love you.