When her arm touched his as she walked past him at the service, her heart beat faster than it did in two decades of her marriage.
This morning my face in the mirror does not look like me. It is too young and too happy. “Are you leaving?” she says. I never was here.
Pink dawn and jingling sleigh bells wake her. She sits in bed and waits for footsteps on the stairs. Her gift doesn’t fit under the tree.
Parson spread the word: be born again. His daughter also spread and he caught us. After the shotgun blast, perhaps I will be born again.
She could see the pain in his eyes. It was her fault he was in here. There would always be more than bullet proof glass between them.
She had been approached by Romeo, Don Juan, and Marc Antony. Now she looked for the one who’d caught her own eye, Cinderella dressed in blue.