Just two weeks ago I was in a gloriously warm climate for a few days. Eighty-degrees F plus, warm breezes, and palm trees. I was alone for a few days and hoping to share a secret kiss in the salty air.
The longer I am in my current relationship, the more my confidence buckles. I used to have affairs with no fear or problems when I traveled. I fully intended to send a cheeky wink to whomever deserved it, but I buckled.
I had the perfect opportunity, too. Four cheeky British boys were on holiday and we had taken the same money-sucking tour. It would have been dead easy for me to introduce myself and ask to get a meal or a drink with them later in the evening. I heard them lament to an older woman how they had been failing at trying to do spring break American-style. We were even on the bus together back to the city; them right behind me. I got off the bus before they did and I never saw them again.
I spent my nights alone then; alone and early-to-bed. And much of my day time activities too. What a waste! What a complete and utter waste of time and energy. So rare are these solo jaunts of mine. And particularly in such a steamy atmosphere. I have nothing on the horizon now; nothing to look forward to. I was hoping to come back to my relationship and my place of living revitalized and saucy. Now I sit here with nothing but regret.
See, I truly believe that one regrets far more what one didn’t do than what one did.
