Down the tracks she cuts, staring straight at me through long hair. Bags under her eyes. Not giving a damn. My wrecked vocal chords plead with her to stop cutting as she slides into a hot bath. I stood; looking down at the water she hopes will turn red. Disappointment.
“None of this matters anymore, babe.”
She won’t hear it and I get the finger again. Every day we linger through this. She will someday forget the blade and bathwater as I forgot my rope long ago. She cries for us again. I won’t move forward without my eternal love.
Bio: Rob40 is catching up. His day job as an airline pilot affords many people watching opportunities. He lives in Colorado with his family where he is learning storytelling.