Yesterday
She had not changed. In my minds eye the picture was thirty years old, a fragment of a dream, of what might have been. Yes she had aged, but so, had I, and if the truth was admitted, the intervening years had not been over kind to either of us. I was heavier than I would have wished, and my hair 'distinguished' grey; her face had more 'laughter' lines and she wore her shock of white hair proudly. Her figure, slim as ever still looked good. Of course she had changed, but still somehow she...