Wiping the crust from her eyes, she stretches to the sky and struggles to accept the dawning of this new day. Yesterday has left her cold. She is now alone. Broken mementos from the fallout are scattered about the room. She gazes at them awkwardly, unsure if she wants to repair them or further damage them. She checks her phone, then wishes she hadn’t because there are no missed calls. She pulls up his number and wages a war in her head over should she or shouldn’t she. Seconds turn to minutes and just as reluctance turns to rage, she presses the green bottom.
(c) LaRonda Moore