purstiltski7
It wasn't just that he was always there, or that he never grew tired of being around me, or that he would always hold my hand. I loved him because he was my best friend and my family.
One look was all it took. I didn't want to look away. Even when the cart next over creaked as it turned and caught on wood, I didn't want to. But I had my book in my hands, and had no more excuses. So I turned away with my fantasy, away from my real one.
In. And out. In... out. In and out. In and out.. In and... dead.
My mom always thinks about what it would be like to get a kiss from a man dressed in a plaid kilt. She loves everything about the Scottish, even the idea that she can't understand some of the things they say. All of her favorite romance books have a Scottish highlander in them, shirtless in a plaid kilt. Her loves outside of her marriage. Thank goodness for her happy marriage, and happy dad.
They sat together on the park bench with a backpack in between them.
"So, what do you think you'll do now?" Sarah asked.
"I don't know... maybe write some, under a pen name. Maybe paint."
"That's all good, but... what about the cops?"
"Screw them. They can't have my backpack."
Ding, dong, the witch is dead.
Left on the doorstep,
with one newspaper in hand.
Laughing at her!
All of the children laugh with me.
What a thing to say to them, too!
"My, my, my," says she,
"What a pretty doggie! Yes!"