Sitting in the tub, pointing my chin into the milky old silver shaving mirror, I draw the razor across my face.
A single candle burns.
It is my last date with myself.
Tomorrow I will find out that I have been loved despite myself—the pouting, querulous, monster child who spoiled his loves like freckles of marinara on a white linen shirt.
There were many. I sent them running.
And I guess I wish she were here for it, the blindly selfish, myopic—gorgeous—monster from whom I was cut, a depressed ginger snap.
But at last we are not alone, Marion. We are not as bad as all that.
The mirror clouds with steam, the water circles down the drain, and we are off!
1 comment:
This is where I tried to post yesterday, but what I said didn't get posted. Anyway, my comment was, I would use the Sonny and Cher title, "You Got Me Babe" but it would reveal exactly how old I am. However, it's true, and I'm not running.
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