I had no claim on you.

I had forfeited every claim, forty-five years ago, on a set of courthouse steps.

So instead, I set up the chessboard in the courtyard.

I bought the tea you used to like, that I remembered you liked, from a lifetime ago.

And I sat under that oak tree every single afternoon, for three weeks, waiting for you to walk past, praying that you would sit down.

I did not want your forgiveness; I did not dare to want that.