“People need to be needed.” She said.
I looked up and watched her take another handful of clothes from the solitary dresser in what used to be our bedroom. She put them into her bag and went back for another handful.
I suppose my silence equaled assent. I agreed with her. People do need to be needed—but there wasn’t anything that I had to say or do. After all, she was the one that was ending this. She was the one that was leaving me for someone else. Her monologue was falling on deaf ears.
She needed to be needed. But not by me.
Okay, this is just a writing, right? Before I hit the panick button as I did when you “came out” about the Mac, but sounded suspiciously like you were gay, you know what, nevermind…. I am assuming that this is just a scene piece and no more. But that said– it’s good. I like it. You have a way of writing mood– usually, it is regret.
Yes. Fiction. I’ve got to figure out a better descriptive “tag” for these types of entries. Everything’s fine, we’re all fine. Here. Now.
How are you?
You scared my wife. I had to explain the tags. -_-