It’s always the same. Just when I think “it” is finally over, something leaps out in front of me as if to say, “Not so fast, sister.”
I caught them out of the corner of my eye. Shoes. Not mine. His. I don’t know how I missed them. Yet there they sat on the floor of my closet, as if in their place, unmoving. Like they still belonged there but now strangely out of place.
In the end it was me who was to blame for the oversight. Oh well (sigh). I’d done my best und…
… Read more at HuffingtonPost.com
The real hero is always a hero by mistake; he dreams of being an honest coward like everybody else. – Umberto Eco
fcm 2 2015-02-10 13:15:04.11