Forgotten Her?

I don’t think about her as before, days when she is far from my mind, and when I do think of her, certain resentments creep into my heart. Saw her a week ago coming out of a bank, she looked much older, wore sunglasses I could not see her sea green eyes, perhaps they had gone milky by age, like a river after rain. Flashes of remembrance zigzagged in my head when she was the tree of life, I, like a vine, seeking food I must have been bloody barmy. There is an art exhibition in the town I know she will be there; I used to go with her. It starts at eight and it is seven o’clock and too late. I won’t go, not that I dislike art, but if I go it will look as I need to see and hope to speak to her. Our affair is over, I will not think of her not today or tomorrow, not ever.