The Choice is Mine

He knocks at my door. Piercing eyes meet mine.  With a quick grin he greets me and reminds me what I deserve, what I’ve worked so hard for.  He knows what I really meant and how I’ve been misunderstood.  He shows me what I’m entitled to, and reminds me that I don’t have it.  I…

Hands

I used to run my finger across the back of her hand to feel her soft skin as she read  Little Golden Books to me. Who knows what was on those pages, but I can still smell the powder she used each morning. I can hear the steady ticking of the cuckoo clock in the…