Books start to creep off the shelves and into wordy piles on my coffee table.
Muttered frustrations about endless meetings hang in dark clouds in the corners of the room.
White dress shirts hang, still warm and crisp from the iron, their sleeves knife-edged.
The light-headed smell of whiteboard ink lingers on the edges of his khaki pockets.
The endless march of bologna and cheese sandwiches with mustard, mayo and some horseradish-- to make it bearable-- begins again.
See you next summer, lover....
4 comments:
Awww...that's such a great bit of Wordage, there. Love that metaphoricalicish Stuff.
:) Hang in there. At least you get to see him at night!!
Very nicely done!
You know, Robin did a great thing when she came up with the Pensieve, and you and another I've read so far, have got this thing down! This is a very good one. I really think she reached her goal of having the reader "experience" the moment with the writer or identify. I did so with yours. Great job!
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