She counts the days.
One.
Two.
Three.
but then he blows it and sends her something silly. He'll spend the rest of the day kicking himself, feeling the fool. Why can’t he stop? Why can’t he leave her alone? But then she responds, and for a few days -
One,
Two,
Three,
she forgets why she worried. Why does it matter? She's happy. He's happy. Who cares if it’s wrong. But then he plays those games with her ...
One …
Two ...
Three ...
and she remembers why she started counting. He starts again.
One.
Two.
Three.
Maybe this time they'll count to four.
One.
Two.
Three.
but then he blows it and sends her something silly. He'll spend the rest of the day kicking himself, feeling the fool. Why can’t he stop? Why can’t he leave her alone? But then she responds, and for a few days -
One,
Two,
Three,
she forgets why she worried. Why does it matter? She's happy. He's happy. Who cares if it’s wrong. But then he plays those games with her ...
One …
Two ...
Three ...
and she remembers why she started counting. He starts again.
One.
Two.
Three.
Maybe this time they'll count to four.
Maybe this time she should block his emails.
ReplyDeleteROFL! Isn't fiction fun? :-) I am LOVING the book by Brenda Ueland, btw. Going to have to find my own copy (and one to share ...)
ReplyDelete