Forthwith

She looked at him with no hesitation. Her hair still wet stuck on her forehead, a pint-sized souvenir of the fluffy clouds outside. He was sitting on the sofa, crouched in his crumpled suit.
Just the day before they were on the sandy seaside in Formentera. 32 degrees Celsius. Then the night. The sweet text message. Bittersweet, for her, to say the least. However too clear to give space for apologies.

“I think we have to break up”

He agreed with a hint of the head.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s