Come again another day.


The rain poured for hours, while Tara looked in vain out of a small glass window that covered a portion of the front door. Waiting to see the flash of light as headlights turned onto her street to whisk her away from the monotony. Every few minutes she would hear the wind and think he might be there, and she’d eye her purse hanging over the chair but it was now getting late and the rain did not appear to be ready to stop its dance.

Across the room, her phone lights up and she hears the familiar chirp of a text message.

It is crazy outside. Too many accidents. Raincheck?

She waited for thunder to crack  dramatically to show the disappointment she felt. Instead, she found a fuzzy blanket to wrap her into a cocoon of disinterest of those around her and found a re-run to watch on Netflix.

“Happy Birthday to me.”


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