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Pocket lint

January 10, 2008

He 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.

3 comments

  1. Falling snow should be shared!


  2. Okay sorry move my comment I didn’t mean for it to go with the lint…although lint can look like snow!


  3. Kären, I’ve recreated your comment on the other post — all set!



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