Monday, September 7, 2015

Modern Times

It's only now that I treasure weekends because I know he'll still be there when I wake up. He'll sit by the bed, run his fingers slowly through my morning hair and tell me it was just a bad dream and the sun has been up for hours.

Mondays are like working without the work. I remember wanting things from life, even what it felt like, now I'm just afraid of losing whatever little I have left. He's here now, in the kitchen making drinks, humming my favorite song.

Mother had plans for me once but everything changed when my father died. I guess she knew I blamed her or she wouldn't have paid me off with a near limitless credit card. No strings attached she said but we both new that was never going to be true.

No comments:

Post a Comment