Yet.

What have I done? He can't be more than 22. We laughed at the bar, but her face was tinged with shame over what Life had become. When I was 22, what hadn't I done?

I stared into the corners and thought of 22. Of that summer I spent in an unknown bedroom with white walls because his face reminded me of you, and still the mornings showed me nothing else did. All these years later, your eyes still break my heart. We didn't want to leave the bar.

The doors closed behind us, and there was just a flicker of light at the horizon. The cherry tree blossoms had that scent about them, the air chilly but hopeful. Another day beckons.

We still don't spend our mornings
within the same walls.
I still spend my nights wishing we did.