She looks behind her with tired eyes and marks the distance with a sharp mind.
Two year, too long, too weak to remember.
Dear Super Footwear Girl, when will you rest and send up a surrendering flag?
But she won't and she can't and she will finish this to the last. You just wait and see. All you former loves, you high school flames, and flimsy kisses, and evening romps, and missing matrimonies- you watch and wait for a glorious final show.
The countdown comes closer to a crescendo.
The Girl sheds the last few tears and beads of sweat to shake you off.
Tomorrow I fill out papers, I get information, I get my final push.
Ninety days hence, Lord willing, this is all over.
And then what shall be your next finish line to race to, little one?
Perchance, a beautiful baptism of love.
In my mind, I hold a string of blessed beads. I am the holder. He is The Boy.
I nurse dreams of sweet peace, with you, My Brown Eyed King.
Finis, absolutmente
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