Tagged: Love (950)

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It was when their love felt institutional that he interrupted dinner and announced his intentions, and she said, Because I served leftovers?

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He describes the wine as earthy. She puns mirth with dirt. He finds that “as funny as murder.” She says “you kill me.” And they are married.

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She said, Your love’s too big for me, and he smiled and said, No one’s said that to me before, and she let him think what he wanted to think.

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The rooms brightens with her in it. She wears the kind of clothes that show she doesn’t need to care. I approach. Can I see your toes? I ask.

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He was falling in love with the sad girl. He said, I want to taste your sadness. She went away and came back with a plate of scrambled eggs.

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We bathe in the light of nostalgia. She pours another round. We make sloppy love on the kitchen floor. In the morning, we both feel our age.

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We walked under a sky of a most magical blue. The walk was the culmination of our longing. I stared into her eyes. I stepped in poop, I said.

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The doorbell rang and I opened it and I could tell she was angry and I said, What did I do this time? and she said, You don’t text me enough.

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There was a riot here yesterday, an attempt at good gone bad, and within the violence, we found each other and made a plan, so bad went good.

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He thought he was too old to find love again. When he did he felt like doing a series of backflips. But he didn’t because he had a bad back.

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