Menopause. A time to pause from a fascination with men and the grey flannel cologne left on my sweater after an embrace, and how they donβt think about the same things, and how their thighs feel in tight blue jeans.
It seems less important as it once was, and I begin to wonder what it was that I just had to have that man for, that made me give up my own judgment in order to silence disagreement, that made me think his desires should count more than mine.
And I pause, my body pauses, from the cycle that has run its course for 30-some years and I look at who I am and I know. Now it is I know.