We try not to pick favorites...

She was his favorite. She was first and had always been. You could tell by the way he looked as he spoke of her when she wasn't there... when he talked about back "then." By the wonder in his eyes, and the perceptible smile that would momentarily pull across that ever serious face. By his irritation even! ...and I was second. Always second.

Yet somehow okay with that. When she was not there, and she mostly wasn't, I was the reliable alternate, the unreal number two. A perplexing presence, not at all taken for granted. The one who in time of duel was there like a shadow. Seconding. The one who, on hearing his spoken or unspoken doubts, answered— in a second. Unhesitating. There with a needed hug though being his second-thought. 

When he began to speak to me of the Prodigal Son one night, I nodded and sighed. We understood each other. I knew on which altar he would slaughter his heart. And accepted it as right and just. She was special. The one. It pained and grieved him to recognize it and try to explain it, but knew too well that I was past the point of deceiving... having been there all along... from the time that things went wrong... 

You are not human, would be his awkward compliment... for all her flaws she was very much on his mind, part of the conversation; real, even when gone. And I would listen, taking my portion, for what it was... feeling second to none.

#FavoritePersons #ChallengeInspired

<font face="Helvetica" size="3" color="silver">01.21.2018</font>