in the morning light

He flicked the ash out of the car window,
and she knew that was the signal for her to continue.
He thought he was good at pretending to listen, but she knew.
When he did those long exhales he was thinking about something else,
probably the zombie in his dream last night,
the one distilled from the mirror that devoured him in slow motion, record time.
But she had sat on the floor, taking notes on her typewriter,
writing him back into existence.

God, how he loved her.

 

 

40 comments

  1. Nicely done Vanessa. 💛 It’s hard to pretend to listen, even if you’re fictional and have been food for a zombie. I generally try not to fall asleep, but sometimes I stare into space wondering why zombies do not find my brains palatable. 😴

    Liked by 2 people

        • Oh my gosh, I so get it…ugh I still remember the first time I had one. So disappointed. Not sure why though, really. Would never ever relate your mind to that, though. Well, the part you’ve made public, of course. Lol.
          I relate, I think I even wrote in a post once that a lot of the time my mind is a vast space with cute kittens bumbling through maybe. (A protective measure at times, I believe!)

          Liked by 1 person

          • Images of the mind. The Buddhist one is mad monkeys in a tree. They can’t decide which piece of fruit they want, they take a bite, throw it away and move to the next. 🐒🐒🐒 I prefer the kittens, possibly with balls of wool. 🐈🐈🐈

            Like

hi. friendly banter is always welcome.

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