Monday, March 11, 2013

Dream a Little Dream of Me

It was one of those relationships that required constant maintenance. I suppose I should have known from the beginning I was not a choice but a necessity, a way out of the sinkhole of poverty and into the world of minor possibility. Were I a better man I'd be thankful that I'd had the opportunity to act as a ladder for someone as lovely as she on her climb from the bottom. Sadly, I'm no better man. In fact some might argue as to whether I'm man at all. I did though get through it, and if nothing else it has provided me with a bushel of grist for the grindstone of prompt writing. Perhaps if she dies before I do I'll petition her latest husband to use that on her gravestone. "She was a bushel of grist..." Then again, maybe not...

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