11 11 Was my religion. So holy how it would show up. A quick glance at my phone, 11 after. How many times today? This was going to be a good day. As if the those little angels were saying we are here because you got our number.
We shared that religion as a replacement for real, for honesty. Like the coincidences of 11 11 made it meant to be. This was a bond of sorts. At 11:11 We would send love vibes over the wireless ethereal as to say I am here and I am thinking about you.
One of the happiest moments of my life was November 11, 2011 at 6:11pm.
We were lovers and in love. Truly. He drove up and I drove down. We met at Moonstone Beach. A location in the middle between South and North. A beautiful place visited by lovers and honeymooners and folks in love and two people having an affair. He arrived before me. As I walked towards our room I could see his outline through the sheers, he was waiting for me. He pulled me through the open door my arms around his neck. Over his shoulder I could see a fire softly greeting, a guitar across the chair, a bottle of wine waiting. He said "Get in here girl it's good to see you smile" I could not have smiled any bigger. I had to let my bags drop from my shoulder as he pulled me to the bed pulled up my dress, my bra, my breath and exposed my nipples. He kissed them. He was always so gentle.
His hands were the hands of wealth. Not practiced at power tools or callused from gripping metal.
At night, naked, fire, giving generously, he cupped my right breast with his hand. I was feeling insecure as this breast was smaller from breastfeeding three beautiful babes in my arms with all the love of a young mother. He was completely with me. The irony was not lost on me that a year later I found a cyst in that breast.

We were first loves 16 and 17. We spent many moments in his bedroom at the back of the house. Tangled. There was so much hair back then, and thai sticks, and turtle cream from mexico surfing trips.
He was the rocker and I was the one that got away.

In the afterglow with the glow of the fire still upon us we talked about our marriages. His failed after twelve years and affairs and mine was hanging on by the thread of unfounded loyalty. I will never forget when he turned to me and said "You must have been a beautiful bride" My whole existance imploded. What if? What the fuck if ? Would he have cheated on me too? Or would our mutuality have been enough for him. Maybe, or not. But maybe.It is those maybe's that keep us tethered.