A Cycle of Love and Longing

Will it work? Or will this day too pass through what, for lack of better words, we call memory, and end up blurry and sepia circa somesuch AD (crumpled and faded, like those receipts in the wallet that went in the wash, the bar codes barely showing, the merchants' names all but vanished)? Will this weekend combine with a dazzling blue sky in an as yet unrealized future and bring tears to the eye and settle uncomfortably in the throat? Or maybe it will work. Maybe we will slip into the domesticity we dread and desire, growing old and fat and bald. And on a wet and gloomy day in an as yet unrealized future we will look at each other and sigh, wondering what it must have been like then to be thinking about what it is like now.