Waiting
Rays of the rising sun had entered the room caressing my face into consciousness. The gown I wore clung to me as I struggled to rise; it was morning.
‘I’ll pick you up by seven,’ he’d said, his lips thick and eyes bright. But as I stared at the opera tickets on the nightstand, a lump caught in my throat; a perfidious punch hitting me. He had not come and I had slept off waiting for him.
The day lazily dragged on and was soon over and I just sat watching as rays of the setting sun bathed the dark room.
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