There are 12 years of memories in their shared office.
Some more remarkable than others. The first picture they’d taken together, outside of the head shop where she used to work; some pie-eyed, waving cat he’d picked up on their trip to Japan; a clam shell—that he’d used to clack at her like a castanet to end an argument—from their two week fest of hedonism on the Gulf coast to celebrate their fifth anniversary.
12 years of memories and he’d said he was moving them out today.
She’d expected his side of the room to be stripped…and it was.
Except for picture of the two of them, sitting exactly where it had been for the last decade.
This was published last week over at Six Sentences. I am exercising my more creative muscles. Sporadically…