Wishful Thinking

She walked out on me one fine day in September.
Her letter waited for me on the dining table.
“I’m leaving. I’m so sorry. Love lots, Grace.”
Even now I still dream of her.
Her kiss. Her smile. Her face.
I still wait for her.
Or a phone call:
Ring. Ring. “Hello?”
”I’m back.”
Damn.

- Mark Lorenzana

Posted with permission from Mark Lorenzana, fledgling copywriter by day, aspiring essayist/struggling fictionist by night.