spinster
nomme
i
hope
i
live
to
be
old
and
grey
040430
...
ovenbird
When
we
were
still
young
enough
to
believe
we
had
choices
,
we
promised
each
other
this
:
if
we
reached
the
wizened
age
of
thirty
-five
without
convincing
a
man
to
promise
“
til
death
do
us
part
,”
we
would
find
each
other
and
make
a
quiet
life
,
with
cats
on
our
laps
and
books
on
our
shelves
and
a
little
pub
down
the
street
where
we
would
go
for
a
pint
on
Saturday
afternoons.
When
I
was
on
the
brink
of
twenty
-seven
I
let
someone
circle
my
finger
with
a
bright
sapphire
and
avoided
the
fate
of
a
spinster.
You
got
the
cat
and
the
books
and
the
pints.
And
it
’s
not
regret
I
feel
,
not
really
.
But
something
that
knows
regret
’s
name
.
It
’s
nostalgia
for
a
life
I
never
had
—a
life
that
I
never
saw
as
truly
possible
,
just
some
childish
fall
-back
plan
that
we
joked
about
when
we
were
sure
that
no
man
would
ever
love
us
.
I
see
now
that
we
suffered
from
plaque
in
the
arteries
of
our
imaginations.
The
love
we
had
,
platonic
, uncomplicated,
could
have
built
the
foundation
of
a
life
of
unbridled
freedom
.
But
we
couldn’t
seriously
entertain
the
idea
of
making
it
real
.
We
waited
for
our
futures
to
find
us
.
How
many
futures
there
might
have
been
!
I
see
that
now
.
I
see
it
and
feel
something
that
holds
hands
with
regret
and
kisses
it
good
night
.
260701
what's it to you?
who
go
blather
from
