Pocket lint
January 10, 2008He rode past on his bike, all wild-eyed and sour-smelling. I listened as we continued in opposite directions, my ears pricked to be sure he didn’t return.
I suppose it’s possible that he had somewhere to be, a place with cleaner clothes and warmer hearts. But I still walked faster, picking up my pace in the direction my life carried me.
Later, I let him fall from my thoughts like lint from a pocket. I did not want to feel him there, riding next to my leg.
100 Proof 
Falling snow should be shared!
Okay sorry move my comment I didn’t mean for it to go with the lint…although lint can look like snow!
Kären, I’ve recreated your comment on the other post — all set!