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He’s been there before, standing in front of me. Shorter but twenty years older. His skin is burnt umber and his boots… pure leather? They anchor him to the ground, and his voices floats like a feather. His hand reached out to exchange business cards, “meeting was my pleasure.” Now bags swing lower from his eyes. His shoulders look tighter. There’s more time on his hands… “I’m recently single.” Another voice, taller, in the room explained how you’re always fighting for time in it and lost in how to fill it without her. The smaller stayed for an extra hour. 

We chewed on three years in that room, but I never met her.