Won The War :

I wrote this, and was wondering what yall thought of it...

"Won the War"

I haven't seen her for an age and a half. My grandfather would laugh at that, as if a year and a bit are an aeon of time. I suppose in the grand scheme of things the clock has spun a few times less than a blink of an eyelid, but I don't have to worry about that. I'm not the person that gets to look at the grand scheme and make decisions. I just exist and try to do it the best I can.
Our greeting is awkward, a bit strained. You understand why, of course. The underpinning of feeling is still there, and she remembers time after time. Maybe they're passing through her mind right now. Maybe she thinks of me every time she reads a poem, or walks through that little park, or when the leaves are on the ground. She doesn't look into my eyes very often as we speak. Is it because she used to say how she loved them, and how irridescently deep they seemed?
We exchange trivialities and bits of information. We talk about how big the world seems, and how small we are. The lake ripples to our feet. Made from an old fallen log, the bench is uncomfortable.
I was going to take the canoe ride alone. But company is welcome, and I ask. She looks at the people getting in and out. We know most of them. Some quite well. I know what she's thinking, wondering what they'll say to eachother. What words will pass, what idea will be formed. Worry lines crease on her forehead.
She's beautiful. Not like some passionless beauty casually displayed on a runway. Not some passing flirtatious cuteness. But beautiful, as if Rembrandt had decided the masterstroke would touch this canvas. Her spirit lives on her face, and her spirit is something you long to touch.
The worry lines pass, and the thought. She smiles like I've just told a good joke. Who cares what they think? Let them be petty. Don't live to please small minds and small ideas.
As we step onto the canoe, I can't help but wonder if I have, after all, lost the battle but won the war.

Skraps