"Honey?" 

His smile is strained, from across the table, his suit pressed clean with a boyish charm but the telltale laugh lines around his eyes deceive him. she slowly ebbs and tides like a troubled wave on a new moon, laughing with fond memories for a second, spilling wine on her fifty seven year old wedding dress, the other. her eyes gloss over with unfamiliarity as she scrutinises the man in front of her. Panic surges through his taped up heart, and as he slowly loses her for the the fifty seventh time, their delusional, rickety little house of cigarette stubs crumbles and falls, yet again.

"Who are you?"