Letting Life Lead
Empty mugs and cold coffee rings punctuated the tail of twenty years on a Thursday afternoon.
“We’ll talk again soon,” he said.
She muttered, “What for?”
He kissed her temple, grabbed the duffel, and crossed the threshold. Later, she spied the pristine, rectangle patch where the family portrait had hung.
Vulnerable on main
My personal stories and musings
Find BIG inspiration in the little moments
Poetry that purrs. It's reowr because the cat said so.
The Literary (or Junk) Writings of Leslie Muzingo
Poetry, History, Mythology
Confessions of a White Trash Hoe