Of all the lovers who kept me guessing, I would say no. 14 was the most enchanting. I never knew where he was. The tedious question, the condition of what, was never posed!

I didn't feel the desire to inquire.

He always returned home. Back to our dwelling. Whistling. Sometimes carrying a bag of food for us to share. Warm cheese. Something fried. A bag of crisps. His hands would be cold and we'd light a fire and watch the stars sparkle. The fish jumped, and the landing sounded more permanent than our everlasting unrest.

As the moon changes, so do we.

Photo source.