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he allowed his body to way him down, he scooted to find the comfortable position. he lifted his foot on the wooden table, usually he'll wait for her to move it off.
he tossed the chewed toothpick into the bin, and scrolled through the different channels, but all not worthy.
his fingers gripped in a fist caused pressure build-up, back and forth he would hit his lips. all the things he tried wasn't stress-relief.
he watched the scenery in front of him, memories of her and him first moving in.
the splatter of distinct paint, even the small pieces of an ancient pot they accidentally broke after they were dancing to sweet soul.
it took them months to finally settle in, because she had other things to complete. he eyed the opened but full boxes shoved in the corner. he went over to it, without looking inside he brought it back to the chair.
he lifted a side after the other, it revealed old photographs of her and him. his feelings were mixed. some part of him delighted the sight of her, the other want to let go of it. fortunately, the positive feelings had overcome the other.
he chuckled at the silly photos they took at the booth. it brought him back to the time when they were sober. that night was amazing, their first try of tasting the bitter-sweet taste of liquor.
