A girl tells her phone she's in love.
Be brave. He leans back in the chair.
A raised fist. Poised. Angry? Demanding? Knock knock.
Tattered, stained beige shirt pressed into the rim of the trash can, half in, its owner's head calling for his wife.
Multiple two hour drives, erasing eight lost years (fight to stay lost).
She says, "I love you" in a different language when she has to lie.
One plate of reheated goodness, served with amour.
The same girl, looking for a stranger in thousands of faces - she just wants to ask the reason.
They stare at the wrinkles in the wood and wonder if the lines will ask each other, for them.
A glorious sunset reflecting on cream stone walls, curls and marble staring at her feet.
http://suchpoeticthoughts.blogspot.com/2013/11/specifically-ten.html