Each afternoon they chatted beside the warm fire.
He shared memories of his life as a young man, nearly century old memories.
She listened and sensed the man he once was when his life was full and productive.
Did you always want to be a traveling salesman?
No. I took whatever job came along after the war. I had to think of my wife and young kids. Did you always want to be a banker?
I never wanted to be a banker. I took whatever job came along after college.
Winter melted.
Soon he would leave.
As they sat together on the porch swing, he thought of yesterday.
She thought of something more.
She dared to imagine a different life.
Have you decided what you want to do when you grow up, he asked with a chuckle.
Write. I’ve always wanted to write. But change is scary, unfamiliar. She glanced to the trees searching for answers.
He nodded in agreement. When you start to live outside yourself, it’s all dangerous.
