My legs are heavy. The sun is bright in my eyes as I ride past an attractive man with a full gray beard, and I think of yours, how the salt in it scared me. I loved you, but I was 22.

Because of the internet, I still know what you’re up to. Your daughters are beautiful. When I dream about you, they’re there, your wife too. In sleep, my desire is rampant, and when I wake I wish it was mute. By now, why isn’t it? Do you ever type my full name? Press enter? I keep pedaling.

Sarah Sturgis is a writer, painter, and educational therapist living in Los Angeles. She is a true extrovert. Her first love is reading. Instagram: @whataboutsarah, and @sarahcsturgis.