Yes, we were lovers, you and I. The spring knew us as the dawn on a dewy meadow, summer as a sun-kissed sky. Winter was warmer for our passion, the snow never settling, the winds not wild just free. In autumn, leaves fell around us as confetti at a wedding that would never be. We lasted a year though muddled seemed the seasons. We lasted a year though they claimed we’d not last a day. Ours was everything and everything was ours, and I couldn’t have been happier if the universe had taken me then to play amongst the stars. No, I do not regret this though I regret much. You gifted me with the most beautiful year of my life, then cursed me with the vacant rest.
So, my friend, you ask again, persist in your questioning, ‘Do I regret it?’
I raise my eyes to a cloud-filled sky and repeat that which I have told myself a million times or more, ‘I don’t regret our love just that we were once lovers.’