At that moment I realized she had stood me up, was ignoring me or had forgotten because this was just another inconsequential event on her calendar. I knew which one it was and what it meant.
I went against the flow of the departing parishoners to the front of the sanctuary, all the while smiling and bidding good day to each new face. But I was hiding the sadness in my own eyes. It hurt and as I kneeled I knew I wasn't going to be able to hold back the tears any longer. They came like a summer shower. Intense. Drenching. I looked down and saw a small puddle on the floor. It startled me.
I'm not sure why, but I felt compelled to place the tip of my finger into it. Like a quill.
I picked up the card I had bought for her earlier that morning.
With the stroke of my finger I moistened the back of the envelope and sealed what she would not open. With that gesture I finally knew I had done all I could do.
It was not my choice to make.
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