Afternoon winds blew apart gray cumulus clouds that canvased the sky. Patches of radiant blue appear.
Frankie wraps his arms around my neck, covers my mouth, and says, “complainer.” Mira, rising with a sigh, brings the mail downstairs.
Sunlight intermittently fills our bedroom.
I procrastinate, ignoring pinpricks of conscience and the weight on my mind. I stare instead at the gulf between who I am and who I want to be.
laughter from our mutual
more by FRANK J. TASSONE