Match Unmatched

We used to meet at the coffee shop down at the corner to play chess.

That was before the pandemic closed it down, never to reopen.

Now, the cafe’s summertime deck down by the creek is inaccessible, a cement block without meaning inaccessible even by the stairs specially designed by the neighborhood’s artistic blacksmith.

You never won the smaller game, but I did not realize that there was any larger match being played. I was merely trying to delay you.

If an authentic psychic had read the tarot cards of our business there, could I have been warned of what was to come? There is nothing in the major or minor arcana to describe what I have been through since, in the wake of your betrayal.

There is no such thing as an authentic psychic. Tarot cards are a waste of print.

When I heard you tell your friend your astrological sign in earnest, I should have listened to my instinct and stopped seeking your attention.