Terms of Endearment

I remember her sipping her martini last night at the benefit fund raiser. It was difficult to take my eyes off her. When she walks in the room, things go crazy inside me.

As for me, I’m back to looking like a refugee: long hair falling over my shoulders, ratty walking shoes, blue jeans, an old sweater with her scent on it, a notebook, pen, and book in my bag.

I hear an echo: dammit, Lynn, I hate you. I love hearing terms of endearment.

Published in: on February 22, 2008 at 12:52 pm  Leave a Comment  

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