Game Over

I look straight into a pair of eyes that evoke memories of other times. A car trip through late spring in Norway, stopping on the side of the road at every opportunity for tingling skinny dips into streams of ice melt. Miles and miles picking wild flowers for way too many bouquets up into the Northern lands just to watch a jazz festival on a fjord. A lake in Spain surrounded by pine groves, extremely hot every summer, with cicadas buzzing away in a time warp. Then cold winters in an ancient oak cabin on stilts, sitting cozily by the fireplace, watching the sun rise on misty water. Balls in European castles, full regalia, trumpets upon arrival, minuets, terraces in the full moon for a stolen kiss and fireworks. Islands, surrounded by stunning beaches, long walks at sunset, oysters and pink sparkling bubbles late into the night.
These eyes that bring back the gurgles and giggles of tiny children with their own sets of eyes much the same as these. Happy times of uncontainable bursts of pride and love.
It cannot be, these eyes are now cold, full of resentment, hatred, envy of my peace, my joy, my Phoenician resurrections from the constant attacks and relentless wear. I don’t just see it, I feel it and it saddens me so…
I am forced to ask the man I gave my heart and my best to: ‘”You look so familiar. Have we met before?”
The answer is something about cloth ears and then the usual “What on earth are you carrying on about now?”
Game Over.