This is my third week in a row. I did do last week’s, but forgot to froggy it…ooops. If anyone is interested in that story, here it is.
Many thanks as always to Rochelle for Friday Fictioneers (I typed Frictioneers, Freudian? 😉 ) and Brenda Cox for the interesting photo!
The howling winds press against the window, waking me. Rain slices horizontally. Below, hotel workers hurriedly stack lounge chairs being blown about in the storm. Feeling my gaze, Carlos glances up.
I still feel his breath on my neck, lingering kisses, his voice quoting Neruda in breathless passion.
Tomorrow, I fly to DC, my real life. Stiff collars, angry words. Futile attempts at bipartisanship.
I flatten my palm against the window. Even from here I see his disheartened frown.
“Stay. We have love.”
My departed father censures from the grave: “Love doesn’t shape history.”
“Oh, but it does, daddy, it does.”