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