(A retelling of a story I’ve told elsewhere, so, please excuse any repetition. – Owen)

The days I spent in knowing her
Were soft and slow, but yet a blur;
That time was like a holiday
That lit the sky, then went away

But not in anger, not in doubt,
And not in bitterness or strife;
We ended carelessly, it seems,
A half-well-thought-out time of life

And we, we each moved on from that.
She went to places far afield,
And all her passions learned to yield
To circumstance and habitat

And I, I took a different path;
Of problems, answers, business, math –
I stirred the life domestic, and
Found sperm donation doesn’t make the man

And when, last Christmas, I reached out
She answered with the same sweet look
Although now many miles we’ve gone
Past bridges made of stone across a brook…

… she said she loved me then and still;
She always has, and always will,
But not to swap the life she’s led
Or change it to an “us” instead —

And with some mist upon my eyes,
I looked away from her a bit:
The years I’ve spent in knowing her,
I think I only knew
The half of it