“We would have met at an airport.”
It was romantic, but…
It was not what I wanted to hear.
In the newspaper column, it said, “Susan Jean Myhr will attend Northwestern for Vocal Performance”…
I was supposed to. And yet, I said “No”.
I went to that Ivy instead. The place I had no business being—(they were low on the Square State demographic).
And there You were. In place of practice rooms and musical notes…
Intimidating, this sense of fate.
A particular grain of sand moves between my toes, but I cannot stop if from heading towards its ocean.
“We met (at the Ivy school), because it was meant to be”, I said.
I needed to believe this.
“No”, You said, “We would have met at an airport…”.
This was not what I wanted to hear…
But this is reality.
But this sand is a choice.
But this might not make sense.
And timing is always perfect.