Coffee Talk
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I woke up late this morning and the coffee was burnt by the time I got to it.  Marc must have put the pot on before he went to work assuming I’d be up in time to grab it.  He was always doing that sort of thing for me.  Constantly checking to see if I was alright, bringing my favorite take out home on nights I worked late, and flowers, lots of flowers.  The man must be great friends with our local florist.  I walk over to the kitchen counter and bend over to take a deep breath in of the purple roses, delicately arranged in my crystal vase.  Their sweet scent tickles my nose and I look at the sludge in my coffee cup, suddenly I wasn’t as willing to sacrifice.  I quickly wash out my cup and the pot and set them aside to dry for the day before retreating in...

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