A Reality Not Your Own

I said, "I'm a bit concerned, 
the prophet says, Your wife 
will become a prostitute in the city."

She stopped, a bit miffed. "Memories 
tend to flatten over time."

I agreed.  "This all sounds like a 
thoughtless wish for an empty bedroom."

She added, "Or a famine of hearing 
the words of g*d."

I realized, once again, "A large part 
of my joy is not being where I am 
supposed to be when I am supposed
to be there.  Wherever there may be."

She smiled and said, "Welcome
to the other side of popping
into a reality not your own."

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