morning light easily slipped through the blinds of the kitchen window as the older man set his table for breakfast. it danced across the wooden floor with grace, and washed everything it touched in a soft glow.
the man set the table for two places. two plates, two forks, two knives, and two cups. a coffee cup for himself, and a teacup for her.
he sat down with his breakfast and stared at the blank space in front of him, imagining her there even though she was gone.
YOU ARE READING
deflorationis
Poetryan anthology of short fictional stories that came from the darkest caverns of my mind, or perhaps were inspired by the sunniest of days. © Moonlitsadness, 2015
