"I don't know why we are here, but I'm pretty sure that it is not in order to enjoy ourselves." Ludwig Wittgenstein

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Blue Ink

In her white, New Balance running shoes, Lola strode across the living room floor toward her tiny kitchen.

Suddenly, she stopped for a moment, as if arrested by something she’d detected that was out of place in the living room.

She recalled…or at least thought she did… that when she’d departed her apartment for her walk, earlier in the day, she’d left her journal opened to her latest entry. Yes, she remembered now, that the pen she used for today’s entry—a long one, about her qualms about being in love with Richard--- had rested in the spine of the book, like a bookmark. Now however, the journal was closed shut, tighter than a safe deposit box, and the blue gel pen, her favorite for journal writing, was nowhere in the vicinity.

She glanced at the business card with Richard’s message and thought, Maybe I’m just imaging things, but Richard’s message is written in blue, gel pen ink.

No comments:

Post a Comment