She recalled their Paris moment in a poignant email she sent to him twenty-five years later,
after they had gone their separate ways but retained their spiritual connection.
We were on a bridge in Paris in the summer of 1985. It was overcast.
We leaned against the smooth stone rail and stared at the green water rolling on below.
Your world had cleaved and then it paused, waiting to rearrange itself around whatever you chose next.
I wanted to run away from what had come before.
I tried to convince you to begin a new life with me in Paris,
to shed our former selves and let something else course through us.
I wanted us to crawl through that black chasm of your broken world and emerge,
anonymous and new, in simple lives where I could cook you simple dinners and we could be together every day,
like children playing a sweet game with no purpose save the game itself.
I like to think you considered it before you laughed and said "What could I do? I've made myself unemployable."
I like to think that in that moment's hesitation before our bold futures reclaimed us,
we lived that simple life together all the way into our peaceful old ages,
with a brood of grandchildren around us on a farm in the south of France,
quietly going about our days, warm and complete like loaves of fresh bread,
our small world filled with the aroma of patience and familiarity.