Monday 7th January


The coffee hit the back of his throat, setting sparks
behind the eyes. The he felt a growing guilt, it seemed
wrong to be enjoying this pleasure alone & it made him
nervous. He watched the door, waiting for her to storm in,
make a scene, wondering where she was & if she was still
angry. It was a daily occurrence – had she even noticed?
Love, that most over used of words had been reduced
to a comma punctuating vitriol, a pause for breath.
On the rare occasions she looked at him here eyes were
distant, her face obscured by clouds – what was she thinking?