Its the mango season. The heady fragrance . The heady hues. The laughter we shared. And reading Neruda to you while you slept.” I am moved by the sight of you sleeping. I love your orange laughter”. What am I to do? Everything carries me to you….but this chasm between us is so merciless. Perhaps the remembered sweetness is sweeter..more poignant.. because you and I will never read Neruda together again. You will never again wipe the sticky juice of mangoes running down my chin.You will never tuck that errant curl behind my ears again.I wonder if she and you eat mangoes together? Because he and I never do.