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PHOTO PROMPT © Claire Sheldon
Nothing But My Aching Soul
I feel for Jocelyn.
What if my husband left me for a twenty-something bikinied selfie-taker whose photos litter social media with duck lips and fish gape?
A Taylor Swift station reverbs in her cubicle added to which are numerous revenge songs. But my concern is the plastic cup with used staples, which looks equal parts environmentally kind (recycling) and treacherous (pain).
I’m proofreading when she steps in.
“I’m thinking Botox and plastic surgery.”
I shake my head. “You’re already pretty.”
“But not young.”
Youth, she’s stumped me.
“Even so, he might not come back.”
She smiles, eyes welling. “I know.”