I sit here staring at the two bottles of White Zinfandel.  And the three cases of diet soda.  And two shakers of Mrs. Dash along with a shaker of salt substitute.  A bag of lentil beans. Washcloths….yes, washcloths.  Collected for a trip planned.  A trip that will not be taken.  

I don’t drink White Zinfandel.  I don’t need all that diet soda.  I’ve never cooked nor have I ever eaten lentils.  I suppose I will now.  Maybe acquire a taste for White Zin.  Or maybe I’ll store these items, bag them up, box them up.  Save them for a rainy day.  Keep this collection as a reminder?  Of what could have been…should have been.

Opportunities found….opportunities lost.  Two wounded, scarred, soldiers of love.  One‘s healing almost complete, the other just beginning the journey.   One ready to battle once again, the other still shell shocked.  Two people brought together by words.  Words that resonated deep within.  Understanding and comforting words. Two people torn apart by words.  Words not spoken, words misspoken.  Words said in the heat of anger.  Words written for self protection.  Words of regret….

For the time being I shall lay down my weapons.  An injured soldier cannot fight.  He must give himself time to heal.  Close up the wounds….suture, stitch.  

I stare at the two bottles of White Zinfandel.  I don’t like White Zin.  Never have….never will.