Conscious Uncoupling
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Requiem for Henry and Sylvia
The papers arrived today. I gaze out the window of our posh villa and witness yet another spectacular Tuscan sunset. To my delight, a red-billed leiothrix is flitting about the umbrella tree, as if searching for its lost mate. I rise, slip on my Bottega Venetas and pour myself another cup of Danesi Italian coffee.
Memories flood my brain without my consent. There were happy times spent at the beach, endlessly searching for the prettiest or most unique seashells. Were they really good times? Maybe. It's all a blur now.
The large envelope lay on the expertly crafted Bocote table her artisan father made for us as a wedding gift. Rusty, our faithful corgi, rests at my feet. But he's not asleep. He's glaring at me with eyes of disdain, as if it was my fault she left.
I ask Alexa to play Handel's Messiah, then slowly open the drawer to finish the task at hand. There is just one problem. Where did I put that damn Montblanc Royal pen?
musing on what was
under a Tuscan sunset
coffee tastes bitter
Copyright © Tom Woody | Year Posted 2023
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