What if I hurt you again?
I don’t want to. But what if?
You ask me to go with the flow. I’m scared. When ever I’ve gone with the flow, I’ve been met by a dam. Family, practicality, sentiment, you can call the dam anything you like, but it looms ahead, imposing, seemingly unsurmountable.
Thirty years and a marriage should have been enough to forget you. I thought I had. But you lingered in my subconscious, just out of reach, alive, pulsing, waiting for the tiniest of sparks to ignite.
Now the coals are simmering. Your every glance its fuel. Soon the embers will rise, the fire will seek, and the world as I know it will be set ablaze.
If I go with the flow, I may burst the dam.
In response to Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers challenge of 23 Nov 2018, based on a photo by Dale Rogerson.