What if My Prose and Poetry Were, In Fact, My Life???s Story? (Part Sixteen)

I hadn’t slept well, tossing and turning over not having spoken to Jenny. Her messages, touching in the first instances, became less so as time went by, then downright angry.

I was never good at explaining things, certainly around any weakness I might have, and hearing a woman threatening to shoot me on sight was a little unnerving. Last night I had dinner in the hotel.

An early night was on the cards, but sleep was elusive. I considered calling Jenny at three in the morning, knowing she would be dropping off the children to school. I didn’t.

Learn More

Tags: Poetry Prose