24. Forgive Me
He left before he really knew what he was doing. He hung the plastic, “do not disturb,” sign swinging on the door of the motel room, and left. “Forgive me,” he muttered under his breath, to no one in particular, to the cold January air. Morning light slanted into his eyes as he walked briskly up the concrete sidewalk to the lobby. He squinted hard and tried not to think of her. Twenty minutes later he was sitting in his car. The key was in place, but he couldn’t turn it. He sat still, and thought of her, and cried.
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Two Buddhas in Conversation 